Being Athrun Zala
by pratz
Summary: Five years after the Second War, Athrun Zala was still struggling to steady himself with his hands full of his boy, his duty, his past and his 'dull' love life. ::Complete::
1. Chapter 1: A Can of Beer

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: Gundam SEED and Gundam SEED Destiny belong to Sunrise Studio and Bandai helps to popularize them even more. I am from being Tomino-sensei's long lost child or Yadate-sensei's forgotten offspring, so I write fanfictions. This will run until the end of this fanfiction and, of course, until the end of the world. I just borrow their characters for a non-profit purpose. Additional characters are originally mine, though.

Warning: will be a long story to complete. And I write slow.

Notes: All gratitude should be passed to dearest Fledgling for betaing and much, much more. This is also a gift for those who read and especially those who review my previous _SEED_ fanfics.

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**Chapter 1**

'_At the young age of twenty-three, Alex Dino is a man worth all the attention in the world. He is extremely good-looking with a smile that can melt the heart of the Mermaid of Copenhagen statue, gallant with capital G, wealthy enough to afford three of the world's best sports cars in his garage, and—the reason why women of all ages love him—is a bachelor._

'_If one believes that a bird is in its prettiest moment while flying, then Alex Dino is the most beautiful bird indeed._'

_Poor analogy_, Meyrin thought as she threw the magazine onto the table in front of her. _Why can't people mind their own business? It's the third time Athrun-san has appeared in the main article at the top on Orb's Most Wanted Men list_. Sighing, she stood up. She still had lots of work to do. Being a school counsellor was fun, but it, too, could be a rather notable pain in the neck.

The doorbell rang. Once. Twice.

"Coming!" Wondering who her guest might be, for it was still early evening, she went to get the door. There were not many people in this neighbourhood whom she was closely acquainted with, so this might mean one of her closest neighbours needed a hand.

Meyrin blinked and blinked as a familiar face greeted her sight. "Well," she drawled, grinning, "look who I have in my doorway. Orb's most wanted man of the year himself."

Alex Dino, or better, Athrun Zala, had his face twisted into an expression of mild disgust. "Quit it, Meyrin. I had buckets of bright red roses sent to my office today, my secretary's unplugging all the telephone cords to stop all the calls for me and I still have a boy to search for because he wasn't there when I arrived at home."

"Oh?"

"Where. Is. He?"

Meyrin laughed at the undertone of stress in Athrun's voice. "Don't be so distressed, Mr. Most Wanted. Just take the prettiest rose and dump the rest into your garbage bin. Surely the National Domestic Security Affair Office has one, no? Next, there's no need to tell Will-san to unplug your phone. Just tell him to get Mark-san's number. I think Mark-san'll be Very Happy to help you to send unidentified computer viruses to the callers. And about the one you have to pick up," Meyrin straightened Athrun's crumpled tie, "I sent your darling boy to Elaine-chan's birthday party."

Athrun's expression melted slightly into a more relaxed one. "I owe you."

"Of course. Meyrin-sensei knows the best for her student—the boy of Orb's Most Wanted Man."

Groaning, Athrun flattened his suit as best as he could with his hands. "I'm going to pick him up now."

"Drive carefully, Athrun-san. We don't want to lose our most loved man, do we?"

"I said, quit it."

"Enjoy your day!"

Meyrin's merry laugh was swallowed by the loud roaring sound of Athrun's car.

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The Athha Mansion's backyard that evening was more like a kindergarten playground than a backyard belonging to an eighteenth century-styled mansion. Athrun assumed that there were at least thirty children running all over the place, all screaming and making noises that could probably wake the dead. _So much for being a good father and orphanage administrator, Kira_, he thought. A small boy accidentally bumped onto his legs as he ran forward without looking. Athrun did not need to think to know what would happen next.

The boy started crying. Loudly. Afterwards he ran away from the cold-hearted monster he had run into.

"Why don't you tell him it's not his fault and that he's a good boy and good boys don't cry?"

Kira was there when he turned around, a small girl Athrun did not know in his arms. He eyed his friend's clothes and sighed. "Tight leather pants for your daughter's birthday?"

The brown-haired man shrugged nonchalantly. "Couldn't think of anything else. Why the awful mood, Alex?"

"You don't know how worried I was when I came home and found out that he wasn't there. We've agreed to come to Elaine's party together, but he wasn't home when I came home! Now. Where. Is. That. Little. Demon?"

"Oh, you didn't meet Dietmar when you're heading here? I think he's still playing on the seesaw with Elaine." Kira tilted his head in the direction of the seesaw near the back veranda.

Athrun ignored his best friend's questions and headed straight for the seesaw. He had come to the backyard through the mansion's left wing; that was why he had missed the seesaw on the back veranda. Two little children were playing happily on the seesaw: one in a frilly, pink gown, the other with a white beret cap on his head.

"Dietmar, look! Alex-ojiki's coming!" the girl said aloud.

Being at the bottom of the seesaw, the boy with the beret turned his head and waved at him. "Alex!"

The girl on the top of the seesaw, regrettably, also raised her hand to wave. "Alex-ojiki!"

"Elaine, don't take your hands off—"

"Aaaah!"

"—the seesaw!"

Athrun coughed as the weight of the girl landed on his torso, entirely cutting off his air for a few tormenting seconds. Thanks to his fast legs and his body, the girl did not get even a scratch, though she had been free falling seconds before. The boy on the other side of the seesaw immediately rushed to him and also the girl, already panicking.

"Elaine, you alright? You hurt? Elaine?"

Athrun coughed, lungs burning. He was also hurt; why did not the boy ask him too?

Rushed steps came to their place in no time. Kira, some children, and some people Athrun did not recognize were there.

The little girl hurriedly ran to Athrun's best friend, sobbing onto Kira's chest. "Daddy!"

"You alright? You almost gave me a heart attack, sweetheart. Thank Athrun-ojiki for saving you." Smiling, Kira offered a hand to the man still lying on the ground. "You alright, buddy?"

Athrun shrugged the offered hand off, sitting up by himself. "I'm the victim here, and yet nobody came to my aid first."

"Well, you're a grown up; Elaine and Dietmar are children. It's only natural to check on them first."

"It's only natural to pay less attention to me, you mean?"

The girl on Kira's arm swivelled to face Athrun. "Athrun-ojiki," she whispered brokenly, "I didn't mean—"

_Oh no. Please, no..._.

And she began to cry. Loudly.

Rolling his eyes, he dropped his head onto his palm. _Not again_.

"Athrun Zala!"

He winced at the very loud and familiar sound of someone screaming his name, his real name.

On the doorway in the back veranda stood the owner of the mansion, sister to Elaine's father, heir to the Lion of Orb, and current Head Representative of Orb, Cagalli Yula Athha.

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Dearka raised his glass high. "And now," he declared, "to our dearest young lady, who's celebrating her birthday today."

"To Elaine," the others answered.

The sound of glass clinking and people sipping juice from their glasses—because Kira had stated firmly that it was Very Bad to drink alcoholic liquor in _his_ daughter's fourth birthday party—could be heard afterward. Kira sat next to his sister, looking as tranquil as ever. Lacus's chair, on Kira's right side, was still unoccupied, because the rightful owner had not arrived yet due to her duty as one of PLANT's Representatives. Athrun sat on the chair next to Lacus's, sipping his juice quietly. His chest still throbbed, though faintly, and it was definitely not comfortable. At his side sat Dearka and Miriallia. How the couple could attend the party together and sat side by side as after they had tried to strangle each other less than a month ago was beyond Athrun's ability to understand.

Athrun put his glass on the table. "I'm going to the restroom," he announced.

Returning from the rest room, he unintentionally passed an alcove where Dietmar and Elaine had fallen asleep a while ago, tablets of scrabble scattered around their feet that did not touch the ground. The sight brought a small smile to Athrun's lips. Here they were making a merry party for the girl, yet the birthday girl herself was not there to make it even merrier. _A child's still a child nevertheless_, he thought, leaning onto the railing on the alcove. _Looks like it's time to go home, right, boy?_

"You know, I think now I see a different person than I did back then."

That voice almost, _almost_ tempted him to offer her a place next to him on the railing. "How am I different?"

"Because you made my niece cry. That's so kind of you, Athrun. Making a girl cry, that is." She paused. "Not that she's the first one, though."

He groaned. He did not need the mental reminder. "Since you don't know, I'll tell you: I was helping her."

"It's your duty to take care of her, too."

"She didn't want to be taken care of by me."

Ignoring the lack of invitation up until now, Cagalli walked toward him and leaned onto the railing, too. She offered him a can of beer, which he eyed enquiringly. "What?" she asked.

"I'm driving after this, and I still have work to do for tomorrow. You know I can't drink."

"Come on, Athrun. Loosen up. Tomorrow's a holiday; you can spend the night here. Kira wouldn't have the heart to kick you out of his house. Besides, Dietmar's already asleep."

"True," he replied, "but that doesn't mean I'll drink."

"As much of a tight ass as ever." Cagalli laughed, taking a sip from the can herself. "How old is Dietmar now? Seven? Eight?"

"Nine," he corrected. "I just took him to Colonel Gladys's grave last week. As usual, we added one more scratch." It was a ritual between him and Dietmar. They would scratch a small line on the surface of the grave to note the number of times they had visited the grave. He could remember clearly that it had five scratches, including this year. He had Dietmar since the boy was four-year old, so now it had been nine in total.

"So it's been five years, huh?" Cagalli tipped her head up, her look wistful. "Time sure runs fast."

"My agreement on that." Athrun watched his boy's feet dangling. Children could be cute sometimes, really. "How's the schedule for tomorrow?"

"I'll get a delegation to meet from Neo Eurasia."

"Oh. No holiday, Your Excellency?"

"Well, it's the same for you."

They both laughed at that. True, with Cagalli having guests tomorrow, Athrun would get no break either. After all, one of the main responsibilities of the National Domestic Security Affair Office was to ensure the safety of the nation's leaders.

"I'm crossing my fingers, hoping they won't send a guy like the one before. I don't mind sitting with Lacus for hours, but I do mind sitting with an old geezer who can't even pronounce my name correctly," Cagalli said, taking another sip of the beer in her hand.

"You've had enough of that." Athrun took the can from her, meeting no resistance from her at all.

"Just say you want some, Athrun. I don't mind sharing." She grinned, eyeing her wristwatch in a swift glance. Despite the beginning of drowsiness due to the alcohol, her eyes widened at once. "For Haumea's sake! It's past ten o'clock!"

"Yep, it is. Why?"

"I should've been home already!" she shrieked. "I haven't written my speech yet, and my stylist wants to confirm what dress I'll wear tomorrow!"

Athrun thought for a short time, taking a small sip of the beer. He knew that Cagalli's schedule was tight, maybe even tighter than Lacus's, but she did not want to upset Elaine, so she had stolen some time to attend her little niece's birthday party. That meant she had not told even Kisaka about it, had come in incognito and had to return unknowingly before the time Kisaka would check up on her. "I'll drive you." He tossed the can into the nearest garbage bin.

Narrowing her eyes, Cagalli shot him with a suspicious look. "Don't you have your own work to do?"

"It's no big deal." He shrugged indifferently. "I can reach my office in thirty minutes from the Royal Palace. Let me just tell Kira I'll leave Dietmar here for a night."

Athrun told her to wait in his car as he spoke to Kira, and in ten minutes, he was ready in the driver's seat.

Cagalli took hold of a small, yellow duckling figurine on the dashboard, swaying it lightly before Athrun's nose. "Cute. Didn't know you would have something like this in your car."

Flushing mildly from embarrassment, Athrun quickly grabbed it from her hand and put it back on its place. "It's Dietmar's. Now, don't speak at all starting now, or you'll bite your tongue."

They arrived at the road next to the Athha Mansion's backyard just in thirty minutes, thanks to Athrun's mad driving. Cagalli looked like she would throw up her heart from her mouth right then and there, face white and lips pale. Athrun smiled at the expression on her face, unbuckling her seatbelt gently. From what he knew, Cagalli still had about ten minutes before Kisaka went on his routine check up on her at eleven o'clock. It meant that he himself still had another ten minutes to spend with her, and that brought another not-so-well-hidden smile onto his lips.

"What are you smiling at?" she snapped.

"Oh, nothing."

Scowling, she turned to unlock her door. "None of my staff drives like you, I tell you."

"It was an emergency."

Door half open, she stopped shifting in her seat to turn and face him again. "It isn't if you accidentally kill the Head Representative."

"I wouldn't want that to happen."

Extending a hand, she got a good hold of his rumpled tie and used it to pull him closer. He did not even have the chance to blink before her lips left his cheek. All he knew was that Cagalli was now standing outside his car, door still open.

"What was that?"

"My thanks." Shrugging, Cagalli closed the door. "Night, Athrun."

Athrun remained still until her figure was lost from his sight, beyond the steel gates of the Athha Mansion. The people's princess was climbing the gates of her own house. _What a scene_. The digital watch on the dashboard showed him that he still had seven minutes left to head to his office to finish his own delayed work, which was checking all the security arrangements for Cagalli's schedule tomorrow.

He raised his hand to touch his cheek wordlessly, swallowing once and noticing how, just now, his lips had gone dry. Licking his lips to wet them, he thought that he did savour the mild taste of Cagalli amidst the taste of beer that lingered there.

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	2. Chapter 2: A Cup of Coffee

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: the characters rightfully belong to Sunrise Studio. I am just borrowing them for this non-profit work. The additional characters and the storyline are all mine.

Notes: hugs and kisses to Fledgling, dearest beta and supporter ever.

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**Chapter 2**

"Do I really, really have to wear these?"

Athrun simply raised his brows at Cagalli's umpteenth half-whine. "Yes, you have to."

Cagalli whirled around to face him, annoyed at the formal tone he used. "I still have to put on this... blinking device to my body even with all the guards and soldiers you've scattered over my mansion to watch over me?"

"It's not a mere blinking device," Athrun corrected. "It's a transmitter—the newest model. Really, you should have more respect towards technological advancements." He smiled at Erica Simmons, who was standing near Cagalli with a remote control-like device in her hand. "It enhances our alertness in case you go missing without... a rational reason. There's also only a small likelihood of you leaving unnoticed, but we don't want to take any risks."

Cagalli scowled as Erica fastened the strap on her waist. "The last time I was missing was when my own brother kidnapped me from my marriage."

"True. That's why we don't want the same incident to happen again. But I think we've agreed not to talk about that, haven't we?" Athrun walked to the two women, examining the now tightened tidily strap around Cagalli's waist. The small button of a transmitter was hidden neatly behind the multilayered folds of her corset. Erica tested the device with the help of the remote in her hands, giving Athrun a thumb-up to signal that the transmitter was working properly. Athrun nodded. "Well, Princess, the preparations are done. Should we go greet the guest now?"

"Get out," Cagalli hissed. "I still have to do my dress."

Athrun put his right hand on his chest and bowed to the Head Representative. "Your wish is my command, Your Excellency." He and Erica closed the door behind them. Athrun crossed his arms in front of him and leaned onto the wall next to Cagalli's door.

"You're waiting for her?"

"Yes. Please help me with the digital security system from here on, Erica-san."

"Of course. But I still can't believe you two, you know."

Athrun pointed a finger at himself. "Me?"

"You and Cagalli-san. How could you two bear to be in the same room with that kind of atmosphere?"

"What kind of atmosphere?"

"An atmosphere like _this_." Erica put her hands upon her neck as if she was strangling herself. "Now I know why Mark-kun wanted me to come in his place for the security procedure."

Athrun smiled a bit wider at that, understanding what the master engineer meant. "You said it yourself; it's security procedure. It's my duty, and the Her Excellency knows that."

Sighing, Erica only gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before heading to the chamber where the security staff was concentrated. Still waiting for Cagalli, Athrun tidied his tuxedo as best as he could and slipped his earpiece into place, adjusting the thin wire amongst the lock of his hair so that it would not be too visible.

"Din—Dino, can you hear m—me?"

Frowning at the slightly disturbed communication line, he answered, "Yes, Siegfried?"

"The line is in a b—bit of a ruckus over here. Think they're usi—using the signal neutron jammer canc—canceller?" His best friend replied from the other line.

Athrun pressed his earpiece deeper into his ear, hoping that Kira's voice would become clearer, but it was to no avail. "I don't know. Any ideas?"

"Guess I'll ch—check on it."

"And bite back." Athrun could imagine Kira's small grin in response to his words in the security room. "Whoever did this is setting up an unnecessary and overprotective modus operandi here. Think you can get it done in ten minutes?"

"As you wish, Dino."

When Kira disconnected their communication line, Cagalli opened the door. "Problem?"

"Just some paranoid geezers trying to stick their noses in." Athrun decided not to tell her about the little problem Kira was currently trying to handle. "Ready, Your Excellency?"

"Stop that."

Cagalli's guest that day was the young prime minister of the Republic of Neo Eurasia, Dmitrij Feyedorov. The prime minister had been the actor playing the biggest role in reforming the old-fashioned and worn-out Earth Alliance, who, in the end, adapted Earth Federation as its new name. Lacus, as one of PLANT's Representatives, had once said that Prime Minister Feyedorov was kind of like the Cagalli in his country. During the second war between the Earth Alliance and ZAFT, he was taken prisoner under the accusation of conducting a mutiny against the Earth Alliance-steered government. From behind jail bars, he arranged a non-violent revolution against the tyrannical Earth Alliance. Feyedorov was also one of the few leaders who supported Cagalli as Orb's rightful leader in the second war, declaring that 'no one shall doubt the word of truth inviting people to make true peace.' Thus it marked the start of a much warmer relationship between Orb and Neo Eurasia.

_He's more similar to you than to me_, Cagalli told Lacus. _Young leaders in power supporting non-violent reformation, that is._

Lacus had assured Cagalli that Feyedorov was a pleasant person. However, to Athrun, the more significant a politician to the world, the more complicated the protection for said person. He had spent his whole last week preparing for today, from choosing Cagalli's personal transmitting device to selecting the group of soldiers that were to guard the Athha Mansion—because Cagalli had wanted to welcome her guest in her own house instead of in the Royal Palace of Orb where international meetings were usually held. Kira had been a great help to him, though his best friend had to use the pseudonym of Mark Siegfried. _It's my sister we're talking about. How could I not want to help her?_ Kira had reasoned, previously. Athrun did not mind Kira's being there, not at all, but he could not help but being worried a little for his best friend's safety. After all, he was not going to gamble with the possibility of Mark Siegfried being discovered as Kira Yamato.

_It's for you, too_, Kira said. _You're a ZAFT deserter and I'm a fugitive. We're one of a kind_.

It was not meant to be humorous, he knew. Even if it had been, then it was a really cheap, dry humor.

Athrun slipped quietly into his preordained position near the right corridor that headed to the main wing of the Athha Mansion. He spotted Kisaka on the balcony for a split second, nodding to him. They were ready, and so was their host princess.

Feyedorov radiated such charismatic aura the moment he stepped into the mansion. After shaking hands with Cagalli, the young prime minister bent to drop a light kiss on the back of Cagalli's hand. _A famous leader and such a gentleman_, Athrun thought. Yet, again, for a bodyguard, a too-good-to-be-true person was more difficult to estimate than a simple one.

"Dino, we're done."

Athrun adjusted the position of a small microphone beneath his tie before answering. Kira must have succeeded in overcoming their problem now that the communication line was clear. "Thanks."

"Our prime minister's a real knight, isn't he?"

Kira must have watched the whole welcoming ceremony from the security camera feeds in the main security room. "He is."

A small chuckle broke out from the other line. "I've caught our intruder's tail, by the way."

"Oh?"

"Guess."

"From the Neo Equator?"

"Should I ask you how you knew that? Not a neutron jammer canceller like we've thought before, but it still messes with our communication line—let's just call it a radio signal canceller from now on. Don't let your guard down, Dino. I think there's going to be something more serious than a mere summit with our darling prime minister here."

"I know."

The meeting ran smoothly without any major trouble. With Kira hacking back at the party responsible for intruding on the communication line before, Athrun assumed that they would not face any problems for some time, and now dinner was soon going to be held.

According to the seat arrangement, Cagalli would be seated at the farthest table on the left side of the Athha Mansion's dining room. Athrun's table would be behind Cagalli's. Feyedorov himself pulled out a seat for Cagalli, gallantly letting her sit first before he took his seat next to her.

"Thank you, Miste—"

"Dmitrij is enough, Princess."

"Then it's Cagalli for you."

The prime minister chuckled lightly, winking once at Cagalli. "Guess we're not ones to follow the boring rules, are we?"

"We're the rule breakers."

Athrun was about to roll his eyes at the conversation from the neighbour table when he noticed a small light flashing out from the geranium pots on the wall. Excusing himself politely from his table, he approached the geranium bunches without drawing superfluous attention. _A professional soldier's way_, Kira had commented once, but to him it was just a common practice in common military method.

The source of the light was a small, well-hidden video camera. Frowning, Athrun fished out the video camera, knocking twice on its surface. The light went out entirely after that, letting him know that it was already turned off. "Siegfried, check the left wing now," he said to Kira.

"A rat?"

"Not sure about it, though. Just check."

"Alright."

Kisaka appeared on his right. "Problem?"

"Someone placed a vid-cam here. Old type. One that cannot record any voice."

They both leaned against the wall next to the geranium pots. Athrun once again watched the table where Cagalli and Feyedorov were seated together. "Left wing is okay?"

"Why left wing?"

"It's where the press is located. It's easier to blend with the mass if you're going to tap. I've asked Siegfried to watch the communication line coming inside and outside the press chamber."

Kisaka smiled wryly at Athrun's deduction. "I'd better check it, too."

"Please do so."

With his appetite gone now, Athrun decided not to return to his seat. After all, from his place now, he could still see how, once or twice, Feyedorov would somewhat casually lay a hand on Cagalli's arm.

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The second day of Feyedorov's agenda at Orb was more strenuous for Athrun than the first day. It was 9:30 in the morning, he still had not eaten anything since last night's hidden camera incident and an official press conference would be held at ten.

"Here." Kira put a paper cup of coffee on the desk in front of him.

"Thanks."

Kira pulled a chair to sit beside him. "At least grab a bite, Alex. It's not good if you're ignoring your health like this. I won't be surprised to find there's more lump of coffee in your body instead of other nutritious substances."

"I'm not ignoring my health, and I'm perfectly fine," Athrun shot back, reaching out to take his coffee. "Any progress concerning our rat?"

Shrugging, Kira sipped his own drink. Athrun knew it was not coffee since there was no smell coming from his best friend's cup. "We've clustered some suspects, but we're still searching for the main culprit. Can't just emerge before them and get them secured, though, since millions pair of eyes are watching this meeting."

"What's that?"

"What?"

"Your drink."

"Oh. Green tea. Miss Pink forbids me from drinking black coffee. Green tea is not that bad, you know. Really refreshing. I think you'd better let go of coffee, too."

Mildly horrified at Kira's alias for Lacus and also the truth of what was inside Kira's cup, Athrun scowled. "Coffee keeps me awake."

"It makes you addicted to it."

"Well, Will says I'm married to coffee. So don't bother about it." Athrun took a big gulp of his coffee. Now that he had given thought to it, Cagalli was the person who had introduced him to the amazing yet addictive world of coffee drinking. It happened a week after a minor attempt to break in to the Athha Mansion, and he, being the one who was responsible for the mansion's protection, had spent hours checking the security system, forgetting that his stomach had remained empty during those hours on the alert. He needed to be aware at times like that, and coffee truly was a big help.

"It's just an advice." Kira left to go back to his own seat in front of the numerous monitors on a panel desk. "It's twenty minutes before the press conference, and after that, there's the ball. Don't you have to return to your post?"

"Got it." He stood up from his chair, ignoring the curious and worried looks from his subordinates—maybe because he drank his coffee like it was water. Whatever. Work was work; duty was duty. He could not let himself be knocked out by mere exhaustion.

All so sudden, his cell-phone vibrated quietly inside his breast pocket. Cursing his own forgetfulness in not turning off his cell-phone this time despite it being his habit to turn it off during work, Athrun half reluctantly answered the call. The number displayed on the screen was Meyrin's. "Meyrin, I'm at work."

"Yes, you are, and your boy is currently in my office."

That, definitely, was not good news. "Again?"

"Yes, _again_. Third time in this month only. He's grounded in my office now, for kicking his classmates a while ago."

"Oh, come on. It's nothing new for boys to fight each other once in a while."

"It is when your boy fought five other boys and still didn't get the satisfaction to stop—maybe until he broke one or two bones, really."

Groaning, Athrun pulled his hair back with a hand. "I'll be there at lunch break."

Athrun was still on full alert afterward, but, to some extent, the press conference was like a blur to him. At lunch break, he lamentably said goodbye to his dear lunch and asked Kira to cover his position for the time being, promising that he would return before Cagalli's next event—the evening join press conference—began. Still in tuxedo, he drove to Dietmar's school as fast as his car would allow. If anything were to happen with any policeman on the road, his National Domestic Security Affair Office ID card was enough to solve the problem.

Whoever was playing this little game called hurry-and-come-to-me with him was going to face him, and Athrun was more than happy to think that his boy was going to answer to him. _That little rascal_.

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Meyrin ushered him to her office right after he knocked on her door, smiling at the sight of his clothing. "Tux?" Glaring, Athrun challenged her to comment more about his state, but she was holding her tongue and smiling even wider in glee. "He's refused to talk even to me, and I can't think of anyone else but you to make him talk. Maybe you could help me?"

"What exactly is the problem, _sensei_?"

Meyrin's face knotted into a grim. "What do you think of a gentle, soft-spoken kid breaking in violence?"

He knew the answer—_too much pressure and too much pent-up emotion_—but he did not say it. Meyrin brought him to see Dietmar, who was sulking in his seat in the inner space of her office. The boy supported an ugly-looking, bluish bruise on his left temple, a plaster on his chin and some scratches on both arms. Dietmar stubbornly avoided any eye contact with him, giving Athrun no choice but to sit before his boy. Meyrin nodded at him, leaving the two of them to talk—hopefully for good.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

"Shouldn't you be at work?" come the timid reply from Dietmar.

"I should, but you just have to have a brawl with your classmates, and I have to come here. So?"

"It's not a brawl," the boy protested crossly. "I just do what I think is right."

"And what's with this what-you-think-is-right?" Athrun threw an arm onto the headrest of the sofa, lightly touching his fingertips to Dietmar's uniform-clad shoulder. "Did it give you the right to kick your classmates?"

"It gives me the right to defend you."

"Me?"

"They're insulting you."

"...Oh." Athrun did not know should he be happy or regretful. "So that's it."

"It's not that simple!" Dietmar finally turned to look at him, eyes burning with anger. "They said you're a bad person, because you took me in just to have a good mask to cover your true character. Is it fine with you if you're called a murderer?"

Athrun wished that he had even just a small portion of Kira's ability to pacify children right now. He was used to hear people rub the fact that he had bloody hands in his face, but he did not—could not—know how to handle it when the people close to him did it too. Once Malkio had said that he should clear things up with the children in his orphanage, who were still thinking that Athrun Zala was a good-for-nothing ex-ZAFT soldier until today, but the revered blind man had not told him how.

Closing his eyes, Athrun took an even breath to calm himself first. It was nothing new, but he did not really want to have this kind of talk with Dietmar. "Look." He opened his tuxedo to reveal a black gun, a modified Smith & Wesson, fastened onto his ribs, and Dietmar's face turned a bit blue at the sight. "It's a real gun. No matter how I deny it, I'm a soldier who has and will kill if necessary. I," covering his gun again, he cursed himself for bringing this topic up to the surface and said, "have to do that. The killing, I mean. And I'm sorry if it's not like what you think."

"I know how a soldier works, but a cruel murderer?" Dietmar shook his head. "No, you're not. When one is holding a sword, then one shall pay attention to its handle as much as to the blade. The blade is one's skill; the handle is one's heart. Isn't that the way?"

Athrun could feel a tad smile creep onto his lips. "You've been reading my book again, haven't you?"

Pouting, the boy shrugged. "I like classic war strategy. Sun Tzu is great."

Athrun reached out a hand to mess the boy's short hair, grinning. "Just don't read in the dark, 'kay?"

"Hey! I'm not a child anymore!" Flushing, Dietmar tried to dodge his hand. "That's enough, Athrun!"

He put a finger before his lips. "Remember not to call me with that name in public?"

"But it's just the two of us," Dietmar replied.

"Who knows?" Athrun smiled. "We can't be sure, can we?"

The boy rolled his eyes in false mockery. "That's what I get for having a secret agent as my foster father."

"You forget the good-looking and charismatic part."

"Will you be home tonight?"

Athrun's smile dimmed immediately at the sudden question. To think of it, he had not gone home ever since he left Dietmar in Kira's care back at Elaine's birthday party. How long had it been? Two days? "...I'll pick you up right after my work's done."

"You're not answering my question."

"Dietmar."

Disappointment was now clear in Dietmar's face. "...I'm sorry. I know you have work."

"Hey, come on." He pulled one of his boy's hands into his own. "Mark-ojiki's house is fun, right? There's also Elaine there. My work won't end until tomorrow, but it's not like we haven't had that before."

"It's just... you rarely spend your time with me lately," Dietmar mumbled. "And you even missed the last parents' day."

Athrun winced at that, remembering that he had not gone to Dietmar's parents' day last week because he had to set the preparation up for Lacus's visit to Orb. _Work sure sucks sometimes_, he thought grimly. That day, Kira had to attend the parents' day for Dietmar's class in his place as well as Elaine's class. True, no matter how smart the boy was, a child was still a child, growing up with emotions that adult sometimes considered childish.

_But no_.

Being motherless since an early age and raised under—not _by_—such a severe father, he himself was the living witness to prove that the idea of children always being childish was not a hundred-percent true. Children were sensitive and honest. What was wrong with wanting to spend more time with one's family, anyway?

So he smiled again—for Dietmar's sake. "Can't promise I'll be home tonight, but maybe the day after tomorrow I can take a two-day leave or so."

Dietmar's eyes brightened at once. "Promise?"

"Can't do that. I'm crossing my fingers myself." Athrun glanced at his wristwatch, knowing that at least Dietmar's mood had become better, but he still had some unfinished work. "Well, looks like I've got to go back now. You'll be alright going home by yourself? Or should I ask Meyrin-sensei to walk you home? And no more unnecessary trouble, alright?"

"Back to the Princess again?"

Athrun patted the boy's head affectionately. "Yes."

"It must be hard to work with such an important person," Dietmar mused aloud.

"It is." He did not talk about his duty, though.

0+0+0+0+0

Athrun stopped a while at a kebab drive-through stall on his way back to the Athha Mansion. Kira had called him once to update him with details of Cagalli's ongoing summit. Recalling Kira's earlier advice, he ordered a cup of green tea for his drink. Sipping his green tea a little while driving, the earthy taste of tea leaves kicked him in his teeth. Wincing, Athrun stuck his tongue out to drive the utterly bitter taste of green tea out of his palate. _And Kira called this refreshing_, he cursed the tea silently. Putting back the cup of tea into the stall's paper bag, Athrun went back onto the main road. He arrived at the Athha Mansion ten minutes later, fifteen minutes before Cagalli's scheduled evening ball in the mansion with Prime Minister Feyedorov.

'_To my office, please.'_

Cagalli had left one short message in his inbox while he was driving, and Athrun knew it was serious when she was acting like that. _I wonder what it is_, he thought.

The Head Representative was sitting behind her desk when Athrun entered her office.

"Any problems?"

Cagalli raised her face from the stack of paper before her, eyeing her guest before she looked back at the work before her. "Not really. Just wanted to have a word or two with you."

"Oh?"

"Well, it's unusual for you to leave during working hours."

Athrun sat on Cagalli's sofa, placing his paper bag on the low table before him. "Worried?"

"Why would I be? I know you're able to take care of yourself." Cagalli left her chair to approach him, crossing her arms across her chests as she came to a stop beside him. "I haven't asked you to sit."

"I'm making myself feel at home."

"It's _my_ office."

"I know." Athrun opened the paper bag, reaching inside to take one kebab and offering it to her. "Want one? It's with chili sauce."

If she had a thought in her mind about how Athrun had long accustomed his kebabs to her own taste and still had not changed his preference, Cagalli did not voice it openly. Instead, she took the kebab from his hand without more ado. "What?" she challenged him at Athrun's questioning look. "I'm starving."

Athrun simply raised his eyebrows. "Weren't you just having a lunch with Mr. Feyedorov?"

"Do I look like someone who can enjoy her meal if she's distracted?"

"Distracted?"

"The rules, Athrun," she drawled impatiently. "I had to sit stiffly for hours, smiling like an idiot through the conference, and lunch wasn't helping at all. To hell with high couture or high cuisine. Since when am I not allowed to serve my guests Orb's long-established culinary?"

"Mr. Feyedorov is a vegetarian," Athrun reminded her. "You couldn't just eat lamb or beef in front of him, could you?"

"Whatever." Snorting, Cagalli threw herself on the sofa across him. "Anyway, thanks for the kebab."

"I still have two left—if you still want some. I think I've brought a bit too much to eat by myself."

That made her eye him suspiciously. "Don't tell me you haven't eaten anything since breakfast."

"Correction; since last night." A lackadaisical grin had the guts to show itself on Athrun's lips.

"You masochist." Cagalli took a bit of her kebab, chewing. "Kira told me you left to Dietmar's school during lunch break. Something happened to your boy?"

"Dietmar keeps me busy all the time, but it's nothing I can't manage." He evaded telling Cagalli the truth. The last thing related to Dietmar that he wanted to tell Cagalli was his plan to take a break from work.

Cagalli's eyes softened as she noticed the quiet affection behind Athrun's green eyes. "You're a good daddy, Athrun."

He grunted, refusing to flush before her. "But the press has been portraying me as sugar daddy these last three years."

"Being chosen as Orb's most wanted man means being chosen as a sugar daddy to you?" The look of horror on his face was worth the trouble she had gone through to purchase that magazine with Athrun at the top of Orb's most wanted men in one of its articles.

"You read it." Athrun's tone was a perfect blend of embarrassment, self-denial and disbelief.

She put on a beaming grin. "Of course. I also voted in the polling."

Groaning ruefully, Athrun dropped his head onto his open palm. "I can't believe this..."

Cagalli took a hold of the cup of green tea inside the paper bag, shaking it once to test the weigh. Sniffing the content inside the cup, she returned the lid with a disgusted growl. "Ugh. Green tea. Must've been Kira's evil recommendation, right? Really, I can't understand what makes him and Lacus like it." She rose from her seat to make two cups of coffee at the small bar across the office. "Coffee is much, much better. Want some?"

"If you don't mind, please."

"With two blocks of sugar and no milk?"

"You never forgot."

"Old habits die hard." She finished making the coffee, now bringing their cups and placing them on the table.

Athrun gradually slouched in his seat, his shoulders lowering themselves from their usual proud positions, speaking nothing because, truth be told, he did not know what to say to counter Cagalli's last words.

She sat down on the sofa again, bringing her own cup of coffee to her lips. "You know, a part of me is rather glad to see the results of the most wanted men poll."

"Uh-huh."

Her smile was anything but tender and somewhat sad. "Because the fact that you're still single hasn't changed, that's why."

0+0+0+0+0


	3. Chapter 3: A School Visit

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: I wish I were Tomino-sensei's long lost child, but the truth is I'm not. So yeah...

Notes: all credit goes to Fledgling, to whom I owe so much, from whom much appreciated help came despite the nanowrimo she got. And of course to you readers, because hey! Is it possible for me to still write if there's no support from you?

0+0+0+0+0

**Chapter 3**

In all the years that Athrun had known Dearka Elthman, never had Athrun seen him appear in a state of untidiness. Despite being a soldier, Dearka was the one who paid attention to how he looked the most, saying that women would easily fall a man in uniform and would fall harder for an excellent man in uniform. Back when they were in the ZAFT Special Unit, he was the only one who tanned his skin before they flew for a duty in Bahamas, saying it was the best way to attract Bahaman women. Yzak had been irksomely speechless by the time Dearka returned to their ship, and Nicol had to hide behind Athrun so that Dearka would not see him laugh.

But the Dearka in front of him right now was not the Dearka he knew.

"Let me in."

Athrun raised both eyebrows. "What are you doing here at this time?"

Dearka, the tail of his shirt untucked, his hair messy and his look worn-out, scowled in return, "Come on, buddy. Just take me in for a night." He tried to enter, and reached out a foot to prevent Athrun from closing the door.

"It's not night anymore. It's three in the morning, I have work tomorrow, and my boy doesn't need anymore bad examples than what he's already seen." Athrun pressed his sandaled foot on top of Dearka's polished left shoe, trying to push the blond-haired man out. "Just what the hell are you—Dearka!"

"Alex, is everything alright?"

He looked back to see Dietmar, still in his pyjamas, standing in the corridor. "I can handle this just fine. Go to sleep."

"But—"

"Haah!" Dearka finally barged in, half limping towards his ex-comrade. "Whew." He tidied himself as best as he could, and said, "Thanks for taking me in."

Athrun glared at him. "I'm definitely _not_ taking you in."

"Whatever, buddy." Laughing, Dearka slung an arm around Athrun's shoulders. He then glanced at Dietmar, grinning widely. "Ah, look here. Dietmar, is it? So this is the boy you're taking care of? He's a fine boy." His eyes got a little yet proud look. "Just like a Gladys should be, according to Yzak."

Athrun escaped Dearka's half-hug, refining his glare once again. "Just for tonight, you hear me?" He looked at Dietmar. "Go back to your room. I'll handle this bug."

Dietmar nodded warily, looking hesitant, but doing what he was told nevertheless. Athrun watched him until the tail of Dietmar's pyjamas was lost past the left turn of the corridor. The boy had school tomorrow, so there was no way Athrun would allow Dietmar's sleep to be disturbed.

Dearka, still grinning, elbowed Athrun on the ribs. "I never knew you could fit into a father character."

Athrun put on a solemn, serious face. "Why are you here?"

"Me? Oh, I was going to spend the night in Milli's place, but we sort of got into an argument—so here I am. I'll fix it first thing tomorrow, but for tonight just let me stay, 'kay? I left my wallet at Milli's, and there's no one I can ask for help but you."

"Don't act so dense, Dearka. There's no birthday coming soon and there's no special occasion to celebrate, so your being here must be related to work. What I mean is why you, _a ZAFT soldier_, are here."

"Well, didn't I tell you that Milli's kicked me out?"

"I mean here _in Orb_."

"Oh. That." Dearka scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "Well—uh—I'm not supposed to tell you right now, but—uh—the hell with Yzak—there'll be a ZAFT officer coming for you tomorrow."

Athrun had guessed that response even before Dearka answered. Sighing, Athrun pulled Dearka by his elbow to show him the way to his own room. "It'd better be for a good reason, Dearka."

"Oh, trust me, _Athrun_. It's beyond good." He grinned. As they stood before the door to Athrun's room, the tanned man turned around to look at him, _really_ look at him for the first time since he entered. "You're doing well, I see."

Athrun only shrugged.

A pensive smile reached Dearka's eyes. "Glad to know that, buddy."

Closing the door of his room, Athrun headed to Dietmar's room. When was the last time he slept with his boy? A week ago? A month? A year? He could not remember exactly when. Now that Dietmar has grown up, it seemed that he had missed a lot of their time together when Dietmar was younger.

It was a bit out of ordinary for a man of his type, but Athrun did miss the boy's presence.

"Hey," Dietmar greeted as Athrun opened the door of his room, scooting over to make a space for Athrun on his bed. "Your friend's alright? He looks stressed."

"Every man has his own troubles." Athrun slipped under the blanket with Dietmar, pulling the blanket up to cover them both until it reached Dietmar's ears. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you." But he had. After he put the sling of his gun's sheath on and went to check who their guest was, Athrun had disturbed the boy's good night sleep.

Dietmar simply handed him one of his pillows. "It's alright. I'll be upset if you kicked your friend out."

Athrun propped himself up, a hand supporting his head, muttering sullenly, "I'm a kind-hearted and responsible man, you know."

Dietmar turned so that his back was to Athrun. "But if I say it everyday, your head will be bigger than it already is."

Athrun reached to pat Dietmar's head twice, smiling. "Wake me up at 6.30 then."

A soft grumble came from the boy's direction. "And you call yourself responsible."

0+0+0+0+0

If nothing unexpected occurred, Athrun's day would begin at 6.00. He would take a fifteen-minute bath, and afterward, while waiting for his car to heat up, he would make breakfast for Dietmar and himself. It would take more time if Dietmar wanted a customary Asian breakfast—Japanese or Vietnamese, but he had had a lot of practice in Asian culinary subjects, and so it did not take too much time to prepare those dishes. Then he would drop Dietmar off at school before going to work himself. If Cagalli had a special schedule, he would work late, and if Cagalli's schedule was extra busy, it might take Athrun days before he could go home again. Being a deputy to the Head of the National Domestic Security Affair Office, Athrun would have to deal with field work in cooperation with the National Guard—the department under Kisaka's authority. With his workload, a day off was like a heaven for him.

Like today.

Dearka wiped his mouth with his napkin, looking sated. "Thank you for such a great breakfast!"

Athrun grunted softly, watching Dietmar put the used bowls and plates in the dishwasher. "If all your business is done, get out of my house," Athrun said to Dearka.

"So cruel." Dearka put on a fake pout then turned to Dietmar. "You're not going to school, kiddo?"

"Meyrin will drop by and take him to school," Athrun answered for Dietmar, a 'you're-responsible-for-preventing-me-for-driving-him-to-school' left unvoiced; but Dearka could sense the quiet accusation nonetheless.

"Meyrin? Oh, the sister to the brat's girlfriend?"

"She's a counselor in Dietmar's school." Athrun put the dried plates and bowls back to their respectable places. "Speaking of Shinn, have you heard anything about him?"

"Still in the National Guard." Dearka tilted his head, his expression turning pensive for a while. "Still a trouble-maker sometimes, but also an apt soldier."

Hearing it made Athrun's level of irritation decrease. The last conversation he had with Shinn was very brief. Shinn had told him about his plan of asking for early retirement from ZAFT—saying that he had had enough, but aside from that, Athrun knew awfully little about his former subordinate and comrade. Since Dearka, who was harsher than even Yzak in the matters of judging a soldier, said that Shinn had been doing fairly well, Athrun supposed he had worried too much.

"You think too much about things you shouldn't worry about," Dearka said, as if knowing what Athrun was thinking.

Athrun ignored him, going to get the door as the doorbell rang twice. Meyrin was there. "Thanks for helping again, Meyrin," he said.

Meyrin nodded. Dearka popped his head out from the corridor, and she caught the sight of his blond head out of the corner of her eyes. "Lieutenant Elthman!" In reflex, she raised a hand to give a military salute, but Athrun was faster, catching her hand and freezing it mid-way.

"You're no longer a soldier, Meyrin," he chastised gently.

"Yo there!" Dearka waved casually at her. "Long time no see, Miss Hawke. And for your information, I'm a major now."

Meyrin pulled one of Athrun's sleeves, a half-formed scowl growing on her face. "You didn't tell me there was a ZAFT soldier here," she whispered in hushed voice.

"Well, Meyrin, given the fact that I work for the National Security Office, I'm not supposed to tell anyone if I have a ZAFT member under my roof, aren't I?"

"So why is he here?"

"Work-related things. What else?"

Meyrin rolled her eyes. "I know you'll say that." Sighing, she looked at Dietmar who has just appeared behind his foster father. "Ready to go, Dietmar?"

"Later, Dietmar." Athrun closed the door as Meyrin's car left. One problem solved, another one to be finished soon—a problem with the name of Lieutenant Colonel Dearka Elthman from the ZAFT army. He went back to his former teammate only to see him put the phone down to its place. "Who said you can answer the phone in my house?"

"Oh, it's for you. From—uh—Rene Hathaway. Is that his name? Your boss, isn't he?"

The name belonged to the person in charge of the National Domestic Security Affair Office. A senior officer, Hathaway was an elderly man gifted with quirky intuition and sharp scrutiny. He had been in charge longer than anyone in the Orb government had ever held a position. Athrun was one of the four deputies in his office, and he admitted to himself that he was glad to have old Hathaway as his superior.

It must be something extremely important for old Hathaway to call him on his day off, Athrun realized.

And Dearka's smirk confirmed his thought.

"Dearka, what's your problem?" Athrun asked, exhaling loudly.

"Aside from Milli kicking me out of her apartment in the goddamn wee hours of the morning? Nope. Don't have any."

"_Dearka_."

"You're not funny at all." Dearka glowered. "Fine. Yzak's here, too."

First it was old Hathaway, and now it was the Head of the PLANT National Guard. _Just great._ Athrun cursed in distaste. "Whatever it is, it can wait—no, I mean, it _must_ wait."

"Yzak's coming to meet you."

"Then he must wait, no exception. I promised to pick Dietmar up after school. That _is_ my top priority today, because I've missed three Parents' Days of his in a row and I don't want to upset him again. The last time he's upset, Meyrin held him in reserve for me in the school counselor's office after he beat the hell of his classmates. Is that clear enough for you?" He did not have to tell Dearka everything about Dietmar's record in Meyrin's office, but that did not really matter.

Dearka nodded, grinning. "What a family man you are now."

"If you know that, then shut up and let me be a family man."

The delighted grin widened.

0+0+0+0+0

In contrast to Dearka's appearance last night, Yzak had not changed at all. He was still the military man he had always been, proud and certain of himself. The tag on his chest now read 'Jule', not 'Y. Jule' like when he was in the Le Creuze unit with Athrun, and the flowers on his shoulders showed that this man was now a colonel. His silver hair was still cut short as before, but the line of his face was harder and firmer. _A man_, Athrun thought. _A prideful military man—just what he's always dreamed of._

But still, why on earth Yzak Jule the colonel wore his uniform to meet him was beyond Athrun's comprehension.

"It's a confidential meeting, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Then, why...?" He pointed at Yzak's uniform.

"I've just met Colonel Rene Hathaway and Colonel Ledonir Kisaka. It's better to wear formal uniform for formal meetings with your superiors, I believe."

"Oh." He shifted in his seat to sit more properly. The black limousine they were in did not have a PLANT flag to indicate that it was an official car, so maybe it could be counted as confidential enough for Yzak. Still, when compared to Athrun's sports car beside them, a limousine in a school's parking lot was like intentionally using firelight to invite curious moths. "Talk now. I have an important appointment in the next half an hour."

"The general idea was reported to Colonel Hathaway yesterday. He told me to tell you, so I think I'd like to talk about the details with you."

"What details?"

Yzak threw him a sharp look, a look that could make even the bravest cadet to shrink in fright. "'What details' you said?" He glared at Dearka, who was sitting in front of them next to the driver. "You beast didn't tell this idiot, did you?" he accused crossly.

"I'm not a beast," Dearka protested heatedly, turning to look at Yzak.

"And I'm not an idiot," Athrun said.

Yzak grunted under his breath, softly, maybe thinking why, after many years, he still had to deal with his dim-witted comrades—in the way he always boasted himself, Athrun believed. Then Yzak said, "You know about the World Peace Conference next month?"

"Uh-huh. It was Lacus's idea to—let me recite here—strengthen the bond between friends to establish the world peace."

"Exactly that. Your Cagalli," Yzak snorted at seeing the mild twitch of Athrun's eyebrows, "has volunteered to be the host for said conference, because the original host, Indonesia, changed its mind at the last minute. Therefore, it'll be held in Orb, and our Lacus has agreed to it, too. But we already know that, right? The problem is how we, as guards, will be able to secure such a full-scale conference and make sure that nothing superfluous will occur."

_Of course_, he realized. Since participants would be coming from both PLANT and Earth, the security would have to be at maximum level and it would need a lot of guards from both. No wonder that Yzak himself had to deal with this problem and that old Hathaway appointed him as well. He could well imagine how eventful the conference would be, for almost each and every leader in the world would attend it.

He knew that Yzak had not finished yet. "And?"

"Since you dealt pretty well with the communication jamming incident during Neo Eurasia's Feyedorov's visit—don't look at me like that; I have my own sources, you know—I believe you've noticed that there's currently something moving underground." Yzak paused then continued, saying, "We have to expose it, out and open to the light."

Athrun groaned, knowing what Yzak meant. During his investigation with Kira after the video tapping and communication bugging incident during Dmitrij Feyedorov's visit, he had guessed that the people behind those incidents were the same. Before that, Athrun learned that a few radical groups from the Neo Equator Republic, a neighbouring country to the Republic of Indonesia—the original host for the World Peace Conference—were in movement. Though the groups were less radical than the Blue Cosmos or Logos and were not outlawed yet in Neo Equator, their progress had begun to nag every security agent in every country in the world. The latest news that Athrun received said that the Indonesian government changed its mind to host the World Peace Conference because some cells of the group had begun moving in Indonesia.

"I hate being a rat hunter," Athrun muttered gloomily.

"They aren't rodents, Zala."

It was always like that with Yzak, Athrun realized. Yzak seemed to be immensely reluctant to say Athrun's first name, always calling him 'that guy' or 'the bastard' or simply 'you' (1). Even when Yzak had to say his name, Yzak would say it in the most formal, rigid way, calling him by his family name. Athrun did not like it, not at all. Somehow it seemed like Yzak was always forcefully reminding him who he really was; a member of the Zala family, a son to Patrick Zala.

"Just pretend that you're going to deal with Blue Cosmos-alike groups, Athrun," Dearka piped up from the front seat.

"I didn't ask you to speak, damn it." Yzak scowled. "If you weren't so forgetful, I wouldn't have had to meet this idiot and explain everything to him from the beginning."

"Well, who can guess a woman's mood? After all, I just planned to have a decent talk with Milli because she and I haven't talked civilly since even before Kira's daughter's birthday. You yourself said you're going to discuss the details with Athrun, so don't blame it all on me."

Yzak fumed even more as Dearka stuck his tongue out at him.

_Still the same_, Athrun thought, glad. _Some things just never change_.

The second surprise Athrun received that day occurred just before Dietmar's school ended, and it was Cagalli's sudden visit to Dietmar's school.

"Yes, Hathaway-san, why didn't anyone tell me she had a visit to this school today?"

A throaty chuckle erupted from the other line of the phone. "I didn't? My apologies if it was so. Well, it was an incognito visit, actually. And compared to me, you understand her better, right? Wouldn't you have known better if she's coming?"

Hathaway was one of the few who knew the truth behind the Alex Dino persona, but the man did not go around and call Athrun by his real name. That was one of the reasons why Athrun was glad that he worked under Hathaway. "I understand her... quirks pretty well, but that doesn't mean she can go anywhere she wants only with one or two guards."

"Oh, but you're there, too, right? That makes three, Alex."

Athrun groaned. "I understand. I'm sorry for troubling you."

"Oh, no problem. Say hi to Dietmar for me."

He took it that Hathaway had known that Yzak had met him, and he took that even now, in his day off, he had work to do. Pocketing his cell-phone, he pivoted and went to stand behind Dietmar as the boy waited in line with other children to shake hands with the visiting princess. Some parents also stood behind their children, too. Cagalli wore a simple, long dress, contrary to the white uniform or the black suit she usually appeared in, making it a memorable moment for Athrun, because even when he was working as her adjutant, it was rare for him to see her wearing a dress. _And the event with Feyedorov didn't count_, he thought. Behind her stood Kisaka and a young man he did not know—maybe one of Kisaka's subordinates in the National Guard.

Then she came to a halt before Dietmar.

Athrun watched as his boy bowed and shook Cagalli's hand politely just like a gentleman would do to a lady. Cagalli nodded in return at Dietmar, smiling softly. _I don't know whether I should be jealous of you now, boy_, Athrun thought.

Cagalli bent a little so that she was eye-level with Dietmar now, and asked, "And who's this little gentleman?"

"My name is Dietmar, Princess."

"Orb has no princess, Dietmar, but I am honoured that you call me that." Cagalli raised both eyebrows as she eyed the man standing behind Dietmar. "And this is...?"

"My foster fath—"

"His father," Athrun cut in swiftly, forcing his own train of thought to stop.

"Oh? I see." Cagalli straightened herself. "Orb's most wanted man, isn't he? I thought he's still single."

"With all respect, Your Excellency, my private life is not meant to be popularized by any means," Athrun countered.

Cagalli looked like she greatly wanted to stomp on Athrun's foot, but in the end, she did not say anything and moved to a girl on Dietmar's left. Kisaka threw Athrun an apologetic look, passing him to follow Cagalli.

"Let's go?" Dietmar asked him.

"You go first to the car, alright? I have to talk with them." He tilted his head towards the direction of Cagalli's small group, knowing that Dietmar would understand this. "I know, I know. It's supposed to be my day off, but a small problem occurred and I have to deal with it before it gets bigger."

"Oh. Alright. But you have to buy me ice cream."

"Deal."

He quickly followed Cagalli until he came to her car at the parking lot. Being in an incognito visit, Cagalli rode her own car with one of Kisaka's subordinates as the driver. The young man immediately stopped him before he had the chance to get closer to Cagalli.

"I wish to speak with Her Excellency Head Representative," Athrun stated.

"Her Excellency has to go back now, sir. Would you like to—"

The back seat's black-tinted window rolled down, and half of Cagalli's face appeared. "Fajjra, please tell Mr. Dino that I do not wish to speak with him."

"D-Din—" the young guard, now realizing who was standing in front of him, choked, but quickly recovered from his surprise. "Mr. Dino, Her Excellency asked you to come in another time."

"Please tell Her Excellency Head Representative that I need to talk about something urgent."

"Fajjra, please tell Mr. Dino that if he wants to talk, he knows where my office is and my office's door will always open to him."

"Please tell Her Excellency Head Representative that I speak in Colonel Rene Hathaway's place."

"Fajjra, please tell Mr. Dino that Colonel Hathaway has already told me everything Mr. Dino wants to tell me."

"Fajjra," Kisaka finally snapped, unable to stand the bantering between Athrun and Cagalli any longer. "I'll be thankful if you would go to the Headmistress and tell her we're leaving. _Now._" He stressed the last word, leaving his young subordinate no other choice but to obey. After the man named Fajjra left, he turned to Athrun. "Just get inside. You have ten minutes. I swear; next time you two start bickering like this, I won't be there to witness it." Then he left too, choosing a spot under a tree not too far from Cagalli's car.

Athrun mumbled a small gratitude of thanks and got into the car, sitting beside Cagalli. "I'll be short and frank, alright? Why do you only have two guards when you're out in public like this?"

"I'm my people's representative, and now I'm in the middle of my people. What should I be afraid of?"

Athrun shifted, facing Cagalli now. "Be reasonable, Cagalli. You said Hathaway-san told you everything, but it seems to me that you're taking everything too lightly. Why don't you pay more attention to your own wellbeing?"

"I'm safe in the middle of my people."

"You are targeted!" he half-shouted. "Listen, it's my day off, but I had Dearka and Yzak barging in, and then Hathaway-san told me I should guard you for this month, starting now." He was greatly tempted to kick the driver seat to ease his irritation, but he did not do it anyway. Cagalli would know then that he was really upset. "What's this, Cagalli? Yzak told me we should have a bait to draw them out, but it doesn't mean that you yourself have to be the bait. There'll be more leaders coming for the conference; it doesn't have to be _you_!" He looked at Cagalli seriously, demanding equal seriousness from her. This was not a game. If the Neo Equator-based radical groups were like the Blue Cosmos even on a minor scale, the plan that Yzak informed him of would become very dangerous. "And now I've lost my precious day off."

At his outburst, Cagalli's hard stare melted slowly. She raised a hand to brush away strands of his hair and slip them behind his ear, and he did not evade the touch. "You should get your hair cut. It's longer now, you know."

"I refuse to talk about my hairstyle when it's your life we're talking about," he scowled, both shoulders slumping. "I'm serious."

"I know."

"Then do something about it."

"What can I do about my potential killer whom I know nothing about?"

Athrun cringed, visibly, at the word that Cagalli used. "...Don't talk like that."

"Then you don't use that kind of tone, either." Cagalli lowered her hand, letting it drop into the space between them. "It's for the people, Athrun," she whispered, tentatively leaning her head onto his arm while he himself leaned onto the window. He did not stir as her temple touched the fabric of his shirt. "For Orb."

"Whatever you do, you do for Orb's sake." He took her hand in his, holding it and, for a moment, forgetting that Dietmar was waiting for him in his car, that he had to start arranging the security work for the World Peace Conference's, that he sat at the top of Orb's most wanted men list partially because he was still a free bird, that he was no longer known as Athrun Zala and that it had been long since he had come this close to Cagalli. "...I know. I understand."

"But you don't accept it."

"Yet," he added.

Sighing, she raised her head from its previous place on Athrun's upper arm. "Your time is up, Athrun."

"Ten minutes, eh? That's fast."

"As fast as five years."

He kept quiet even when he rose to get out of Cagalli's car. Kisaka looked up from his place, Dietmar already standing beside the colonel—Athrun thought that maybe the boy was bored waiting in the car by himself.

"Mr. Dino."

His steps halted, Athrun waiting to hear what Cagalli wanted to say. The two of them should have a long talk, Kira once advised, but never had either Cagalli or himself resolved to have one.

"I'm terribly sorry about your day off." She paused, then, "Let me make it up someday?"

Athrun simply gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and hoped that she saw him taking Dietmar's hand on his way to his own car.

0+0+0+0+0

"Athrun?"

"Hn?" He averted his attention from the bowl of Caesar salad he was stirring.

Dietmar waved the cordless phone at him. "For you." 'Who?' he mouthed, and Dietmar answered, "Hathaway-san."

Athrun quickly shook his head, indicating that he did not want to get the call and already half-feeling bad for asking his boy to lie. Dietmar said something into the receiver before putting it back to its proper place in the living room. Finishing with the salad, Athrun called the boy to dinner. They sat facing each other, Dietmar already in pyjamas and Athrun having finished his bath before making the salad. His damp hair clung to his skin, some even falling onto his eyes.

"Cut your hair."

He raised his head. "You say something?"

"Cut your hair," Dietmar repeated. "It's longer. Surely you don't want to live with hair ties, right?"

He smiled, amused. "You're the second person saying that today."

"...Thanks for coming to school today."

Blinking, his salad was forgotten as he stared at the boy's bowed head. Suddenly, Athrun felt terrible for what he planned to say next. "Dietmar, I—uh—I'm sorry I didn't tell you this sooner, but—"

"You have work again?" the boy interrupted, voice sharp and bitter, playing with his fork as if not wanting to see Athrun's face. "It's alright, Athrun. I understand. After all, Elaine will be at Kira-ojiki's house, right? Like usual." Dietmar rose then, ready to retreat to his room. "I'm full."

He wanted to go after Dietmar, but his feet were glued to the ground, and he could not even stand up. It was the same with him and Cagalli, and with him and Dietmar, only Dietmar was in his position and he was in Cagalli's. He had long learnt to understand that to Cagalli, Orb was the most important. Orb was above anything, even if it cost Cagalli her life. Yes, he did understand that.

But sometimes understanding did not make acceptance come any easier.

Like Dietmar who understood that Athrun had his obligations as a government officer yet could not accept that his work was tearing them apart, Athrun was still unwilling to accept the fact that Cagalli had to put everything into her work to the point that he began to loathe Orb simply for making her do that.

_Tearing us apart, eh_, Athrun mused, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Athrun thought about things for half an hour before he got up and headed Dietmar's room. The door was unlocked, and quietly he slipped himself in. Dietmar was sitting on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest. Only during times like this did Athrun see that the boy was truly a nine-year old. "Really," he began, "that moping habit of yours has to get lost, Dietmar."

"I'm not moping."

Sitting beside Dietmar, Athrun pulled out a pillow and put it on his lap. "You know, the Princess was the first person today telling me to cut my hair."

"...You look different when you're with her."

"How so?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you two can do things like thiiis." Dietmar hugged Athrun's left arm, leaning his head onto Athrun's arm and grinning widely—gone was all the broodiness.

"Hey!" Fighting the blush that began to grow on his cheeks, Athrun pushed Dietmar's head off his arm, laughing. "How could you know it? You saw? Tell me!"

"But I'm happy you can do stuff like that." The boy dodged Athrun's arm, wrestling with him, pillows and plush toys being thrown onto the floor. However, Athrun, being a soldier he was, still managed to wind an arm around Dietmar's neck and lock his movements. "Ah! You cheat! Let me go!"

"You cheat, too, so don't protest."

"Alright, alright, alright! I surrender!"

Releasing the boy, Athrun affectionately watched Dietmar catch his breath. Dietmar's bed had become a total mess because of their wrestling, but Athrun took little heed. "Does this mean we're alright again?"

Dietmar bopped him on the head with one of his plush toys, a pink bunny that Athrun gave him to celebrate the first month of their living together. Athrun remembered the time he received a black eye as he tried to drag Dietmar home when the boy got into a brawl with his playmates. Their first few months of living together did not run very smoothly; Meyrin and Athrun's secretary, William Herbert Young, had to name themselves his home assistant and adviser. Now that he thought about it, his first reunion with Kira after their separated years was in a war and his first meeting with Cagalli ended with a wound on the arm and another one on the waist. _Seems like I never started anything properly_, Athrun thought.

He slouched further onto Dietmar's bed, reaching for the pillows scattered on the floor and adjusting himself to lie on his side next to the boy. Both of them shrugged their shoulders together, grinning at their juvenile behaviour just a few minutes ago.

He reached to turn off the night lamp as Dietmar bid him goodnight, but his mind still wandered, and it was two in the morning before he was finally able to sleep.

0+0+0+0+0

Notes:

(1) I'm not really sure if this is simply Yzak's habit, calling others with 'you' (_kisama_ or _omae_, in Japanese version—which is a less polite form of Japanese bordering to being rude if used), or it's specially given for Athrun due to their rivalry.


	4. Chapter 4: A Corridor in the Sun

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: you and I both know who own them. If I do own them, why should I write fanfiction?

Credit: a bazillion thanks to the marvellous, wonderful fledgling the Patience Bearer, for all the help, crit, notes and editing. An equal thanks to Heine Westenfluss, for all the generous help on Kira-Cagalli's reference. And dear garowyn, I can't help but crediting you, too, because you're there to listen to my daily rants.

Note: Is written while listening to Jet's _Hold On_. Is written after hours of musing due to re-watching _Soukyuu no Fafner_. Please, do leave a word or two, and I will write back to you. I need to know what you're thinking, because, for Haumea's sake, Athrun's gonna kill me has he known what I'm gonna do to him after this.

0+0+0+0+0

**Chapter 4**

Disaster.

That was the only thought in Athrun's mind as he slipped an arm into his jacket and buttoned it up. It had only been five in the morning when he got the call from Hathaway, and a sudden call like that certainly meant something important and urgent. So, with a heavy heart and head—surely something must have been pounding endlessly inside his head, for he was dizzy—Athrun said goodbye to his sleep and left for his office.

The roads were still pretty empty as he drove, and he paid no attention to the trees as they blurred by on both sides of the road. _Why the hell do I have to care about trees_, he thought, irritated, _when I don't have to?_ The idea of appreciating the beauty of Orb was interesting to humour, but Athrun was not in the mood. _And they call me a lover of beauty_, Athrun grunted as he recalled a line from the article about Orb's most wanted man.

His car sped up to enter the National Domestic Security Affair Office gates, where a guard acknowledged his car immediately and gave him formal salutation. Athrun waved a little at him, feeling reassured that he was not the only one to work at such an hour. His cell vibrated inside his jacket's pocket. "Dino speaking. Yes, Hathaway-san," he spoke into the cell. "I'm in the parking lot right now and on my way there. Three minutes, please."

When he arrived, not only Hathaway was in his office, but also Yzak, Dearka, and, much to Athrun's surprise, Cagalli herself. They were sitting in a circle altogether before Hathaway's low table. Yzak and Dearka were in semi-formal suits, but Hathaway only wore a shirt beneath his long jacket. Cagalli looked almost as bleary as himself. Athrun noticed the dark rings under her eyes, and frowned at that, but Cagalli made no response.

Athrun closed the door behind him. "Am I late?"

"Man, you need the care of a beauty salon," Dearka commented, seeing Athrun's dishevelled hair and untidy clothes. "You look like a mess."

"I _am_ a mess," Athrun grumbled, "ever since two bloody worms managed to slip into my life and my work and get me into these dealing-with-_unknown_-terrorist matters."

Cagalli tsk-ed at that. "Never mind him. He's just being grumpy," she said to Yzak. That got her a half-hearted glare from Athrun. "What?" she challenged.

At a lack of words, Athrun just sighed softly and took a seat beside Cagalli.

"Now it's time to get back to business, isn't it?" Yzak began.

"What business?"

Yzak gave Athrun his patented cross look. "I haven't finished."

"Please." Athrun was tempted to roll his eyes, but he would not give Dearka, who was grinning already, the satisfaction of seeing another squabble between Yzak and himself.

"We received a confidential report from Neo Equator four hours ago. It's important to note that the person who sent the report was reported dead. He's one of my men, actually. His body's found at a river bank on the Papuan border of Neo Equator and Indonesia just an hour ago." If Yzak was angered or disappointed by this fact about his subordinate, he did not show it all too visible.

"Was it a murder?" Cagalli asked tentatively.

"It's a murder indeed, Your Excellency," Yzak answered. "With his body, we found a message."

"A warning," Hathaway mumbled, already knowing where this talk was leading.

Yzak put a black, steel suitcase on the table and opened it, giving everyone a chance to see what was inside. Cagalli gave a startled gasp and quickly turned to avert her eyes from the content of Yzak's suitcase. Athrun hurriedly turned the suitcase to Yzak so that Cagalli would not be able to see it. There was a sterile plastic bag inside. In it was a human's lower arm, dirty with mud, battered and mutilated. On its skin was written a line, scraped directly onto the skin, its blood dried and caked. If even a horror movie was not able to scare Athrun out of his mind, this sight before him surely could. Despite the wars he had been involved in, looking at a mutilated limb of a human's body in a decent office—one that belonged to the Head of the National Domestic Security Affair Office—was quite a shock to him.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he cried.

"I think it's important to let you all know this," Yzak answered, closing his suitcase and handing it to Dearka. "I'm not trying to be Hannibal the Cannibal by bringing this here."

"This is the message you're talking about?"

Yzak nodded. "Dearka," he called, and the blond moved to show them something on Yzak's notebook computer. "These are the details from the investigation group." Yzak clicked on something. A window with a line on it appeared on the screen. "Read." He turned his notebook so Cagalli, Athrun and Hathaway could see.

'_A blue and normal world we will have.'_

For an uncomfortable moment, they were all quiet.

Athrun could feel his head pounding even more. Not this again. Were two wars not enough proof that such a close-minded idea would only bring doom to men? Were all those who had died not enough of a grim reminder to what wars could bring? Was all the loss and ruin that occurred not enough to put such sick ideas to an end?

"No more of this."

"Yes," Athrun breathed, and in the next second he instantly realized that it was not he himself who voiced this thought.

All heads turned to Cagalli.

The Head Representative sat in her seat, quiet and thoughtful. Elbows on the armrest, she linked her hands together as if praying. Never had Athrun ever witnessed the calm, composed appearance of the heir to the Lion of Orb like he did now. Cagalli gave—no—breathed the aura of a leader. A leader; someone to follow, even to death. A leader; someone to oath one's loyalty to.

And it was this side of Cagalli that Athrun dreaded the most.

Hathaway rose from his seat. "Come, Cagalli-sama." He put a hand on Cagalli's arm. Whenever the colonel used Cagalli's first name, Athrun knew, it meant that Hathaway would fill the figure of a father for her. "I need to discuss this with you in private. Excuse us for a moment, Colonel Jule, Major Elthman."

As Athrun moved also to leave the two ZAFT officers, Dearka halted him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're not going anywhere, buddy," he said.

"Name a reason why."

"Partially because I know you're interested in finding out the culprit of this," Yzak replied calmly.

He snorted—mildly, as it would be impolite toward Hathaway's guests no matter who or how irritating they were. "You _know_? Of course you do, Yzak. What did you think? Bringing a hand for—for an official leader of a sovereign country to see isn't something I can praise."

"She's been in a mobile suit's cockpit before, hasn't she?" Yzak shrugged uncaringly. "Nothing that you don't see in a war."

"In a _war_," Athrun repeated. "Not in an office."

"Athrun," Dearka began, ignoring Athrun's sarcasm, "we didn't mean to upset you. In fact, we wanted you to know about this because we believe that you won't rest your bloody ass until you get a hold of the culprit. That's Yzak's brilliant idea, and—because now he's officially a high-ranked officer just like his damn mouth's always bragging—that's what we from the PLANT National Guard execute right now as an official order. No thanks to him now we're assisting you with the security for the World Peace Conference."

"Why is the National Guard in this case?" he asked. "Shouldn't this belong to the Ministry of Defence?"

"Unfortunately, there's a limit of information you're allowed to know," Yzak said.

Yzak did not flinch under Athrun's heated gaze, but Athrun still could catch low grunts of 'brass-mouthed, stupid blond' and 'idiot bugs don't know when to shut up' escaping the silver-haired colonel's mouth. Athrun had known Yzak long enough to realize that no matter how personal their rivalry was, Yzak would always be Yzak: fair, noble and proud. Back in their early years as ZAFT cadets, Yzak threw Athrun his shampoo—Yzak's favourite and most-trusted brand until even now—in the dormitory's shower room after Athrun performed a clever assist in a football match to Yzak's advantage. Yzak cared for his friends in his own way. Athrun was reminded again that this was the man who raged and nearly beat him after Nicol's departing, who stood with a gun before Dearka and demanded clarification about Dearka and his own well-being as they deserted ZAFT for the Archangel. In a match, Yzak was a tough rival; but in a team, Yzak was the ever loyal comrade.

Knowing that Yzak had not changed too much these last five years brought a thin smile to Athrun's lips. "You've been a great help. I was wrong to judge you too quickly."

Yzak shook his head in a genuinely mocking gesture—_that_ one would not ever change. "Your head will bloat someday, Zala. It isn't everyday people come to lend you a hand. And I'm not helping you, mind you. It's for my own sake."

"Athrun," Athrun said.

"Excuse me?"

"It's Athrun." Grinning, Athrun folded his hands in front of his chest. "I'm not your sidekick, and you're not my subordinate. If we're going to be partners, let's start by being on first name basis, _Yzak_."

Yzak's mouth almost, almost curled up into a sadistic sneer, but he managed to get a hold of himself. "I can't promise anything."

Dearka rolled his eyes. "Boys will always be boys, I see..."

0+0+0+0+0

Hathaway returned to his office with a thick pile of documents in his hand. Athrun immediately had a feeling that _he_ would be the one to deal with those documents. He did not fear office work, but he would not choose it willingly. His prediction became reality as soon as Hathaway pulled him from his talk with Yzak and Dearka. "You handle these," he simply said to Athrun, smiling. "And it's an order."

Yzak smirked in satisfaction. "That's a Herculean labour of work."

Athrun's hand twitched to reach for the gun strapped to his ribs. "Somebody shoot him, please."

"And leave his—let me quote—'brilliant, smart and bright' brain scattered on the floor?" Dearka raised both hands in mock exasperation. "I don't think so."

"I never said that," Yzak snapped.

Their meeting was prolonged for another thirty minutes because Hathaway just had to tell them what decision the Head Representative of Orb had made. Athrun surprised himself to find that he was not at all surprised at how things turned out. Cagalli was, if anything, predictable enough when it came to Orb and politics.

Still, that did not mean he could stay calm and quiet and accept it just the way it was.

Yzak bit his lip for a while, searching for words. Then he said, "Her decision doesn't surprise me, but it doesn't make me feel any better."

"And—and what the hell does this have to do with Feyedorov?" Dearka piped in crossly, definitely Not Happy to know that a new player was going to join with them in this deadly game of cat-and-mouse. Hathaway had also told them about Cagalli's and Feyedorov's meeting, giving that Cagalli took a fair regard of the Neo-Eurasia's prime minister's counsel, and it did not sound out too well for the liking of the occupants in Hathaway's office. "Since when was Neo Eurasia involved in this matter?"

"Ever since Feyedorov suggested something that, possibly, will change Orb forever," Hathaway offered blithely.

Athrun gritted his teeth. "And what's that?"

"A republic."

Athrun sucked in his breath.

"He wanted Cagalli to think over the idea of turning Orb into a republic."

"Bloody crap," Dearka murmured. "It's serious, isn't it?"

"It is," Hathaway replied.

"Nonsense!" Athrun snapped, a little bit too loudly. "Orb's doing just fine without his trying to meddle in our affairs!"

A sudden, sharp shrill of a cell-phone distracted them for a moment.

"Oh, sorry. It's mine." Hathaway reached for the cellphone inside his jacket. "Mind if I answer a call from my sweet granddaughter who doesn't want to go to school?" As three heads shook, he said, "A moment, gentlemen."

Athrun fell back onto his seat, his head even dizzier than before. A republic! Only one visit and already Feyedorov, a stranger, felt like he had the right to butt into Orb's internal affairs! The Orb Union was, in Athrun's own opinion, definitely much more than an ancient kingdom where rulers could be ignorant tyrants. What was so extraordinarily distinctive about Orb as a union was that it did not have one executive head. Similar to the current Earth Federation, Orb had a representative body that was led by a Head Representative. While the Representative Council acted as the executive body, the laws and bills were governed in the Parliament that had two Chambers: the House of Nobles and the House of Commons. The Athha line ran as deeply as the country history's, and it was no wonder that several of Cagalli's kin sat in both Chambers and in the Representative Council. Judicial issues were handled by the judicative bodies, the Supreme Court and its many branches. To be honest, Athrun did not pay much attention to details that did not belong in his work. His hands could only handle so much, after all, and as long as Orb was sovereign and safe, it was enough for him.

That said, Orb clearly did not have any trouble running itself.

"Stop it."

"What?" Raising his head, Athrun met Yzak's intent stare.

"Problems like these aren't your—_our_—place," Yzak said steadily. "Arrest, beat or even kill those your leader name as enemies of the state, but mind not the politics."

Ah, yes. The general rule for all those who held arms: never get involved in politics. He knew it perfectly, but his logic refused to accept it with peace right now. "That's easy for you to say."

"Athrun, that's—"

"Let him be, Dearka," Yzak cut in before Dearka could speak further, his tone cold and stinging. "This man is no much different from the boy I first met in the Academy." Athrun wanted to open his mouth to counter, but Yzak barely gave him the chance. "Brash and careless like ever. I never understand how you, a boy from the House of Zala, could never understand how the politics of the world work."

"Yzak, not you, too, damn it." Sensing that the mood had run foul at an abrupt turn, Dearka began to play his middle man part, but Athrun was already irritated, if not agitated.

"Then what a _man_ from the House of Jule will say?" Athrun challenged. Both his and Yzak's family had been involved in PLANT politics even before they were born. Not like the Elthmans, who were a purely military-related family, the Zalas and the Jules were quite fond of politics. Yzak's mother, Ezaria, and his mother's cousin, Azalea, were a quick example of that. As for the Zalas, Patrick was the most obvious example for once, though in the Zalas' history, Patrick was only the second Zala to ever reach the top position in the PLANT government. Patrick's grandfather, whom Athrun was named after, was once the Head Representative of PLANT, too. From Athrun Senior ran many descendants who had coloured the politics in PLANT even until today, though their influence nowadays was partially limited due to Patrick's blunder in the First War. _It really runs in the blood_, he thought angrily. _And with me comes the political doom of the Zalas. Not that I feel sorry about it, though._

"I learn from mistakes. All the Jules have to," Yzak answered. "I'm the head of my House now. I'm not going to let history be repeated."

Memories, even some that he was desperate to forget, flooded Athrun's mind, unbridled. His separation with Kira at the Moon. The Bloody Valentine incident and his being in the ZAFT army. Patrick's change into a man he barely knew fuelled by his own obsession and Athrun Senior's will on his deathbed. His first killing. His re-meeting Kira amidst the ruins of Heliopolis. The First War. His meeting with Shinn and Dullindal's hidden agenda. His re-enrolment into ZAFT and the Second War. Dietmar coming into his life. His being one of Cagalli's staff here in Orb.

And those deaths.

His mother's death. Miguel's death. Rusty's death. Nicol's death. Uzumi's death. His father's death. Heine's death. Meer's death. Captain Glady's death. Rey's death. Dullindal's death. His own near death—twice. Death. Death. Death. Too much death.

These things were all part of history, were they not? They were _history_. Yet Yzak, in more than one way, always implied that he had the chance to repeat history simply because he _was_ a Zala.

Because he was _Athrun Zala_.

Unthinkingly, his hand moved on its own accord to seize Yzak by his collar. "You," he hissed furiously, "only have that much to say?"

"Athrun!" Dearka cried, trying to pry Athrun's clutch off Yzak. "Stop it, both of you!"

Yzak, 'brilliant' as he might have claimed, knew himself that he would not stop. "A dog will not lose its ability to bark no matter how tame it is, will it?"

Athrun could not think clearly anymore. His head was spinning, and he could not even recognize the ground he was standing on. His fist had already swung mid-way when a hand was laid gently upon it.

"Let go."

_Wha—_

"Let go. Now."

He turned just to find Cagalli standing beside him, her hand holding his fist. He never knew that Cagalli possessed such strength able to halt him, but it seemed that it was not merely physical strength. It was something in her voice, in her presence; something that he missed greatly and desperately, something that he had decided to let go back then.

"Let go," Cagalli reiterated for the third time, this time more firmly. "Athrun."

Hathaway returned after Athrun finally loosened his clutch on Yzak's front. It took Athrun much effort, but he was relieved that none of this came into Hathaway's sight. A deputy actually dared to harm his superior's guest! He could not imagine the old man's disappointed eyes fall on him, and he could not have that. Not now. Not when there were so much to take care of and when he definitely needed the old man's support—and friendship.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. _You're a fool, Athrun_, he spat at himself, disgusted with the way he could not have a rule over himself. "Excuse me, Hathaway-san."

If Hathaway noticed that Yzak was straightening his suit, he did not say anything about it.

0+0+0+0+0

Cagalli followed him out from Hathaway's office. The sky was bright, since it was 6.13 in the morning now. He stopped at a corridor behind Hathaway's office, its glass window facing the dawning sun (1), where no one would ever get to find him there safe Hathaway the Head himself. In the sky of daybreak, red blurred with magenta and orange. The beauty of Nature. Still, he was too troubled to care about Nature. His hand gripped the rail bar, clutching tight that he could feel the cold metal press into his skin. Head bowed, Athrun tried to regain his composure. He did need to do it right now.

"I'm a total joke," he said in a low tone, more to himself than to Cagalli.

"Do you notice," Cagalli said as she leant onto the rail bar, her hand almost touching Athrun's, "that we have the tendency to talk near rail bars?"

"Really?"

"Hm—yes." She leaned back further, head tilted as if to see the white ceiling better. "Remember that time after we escaped Orb for Space?" Her voice choked up a little, no doubt due to the memory of the late Uzumi. "And that time before we launched for the final battle in the First War. Another time when we visited PLANT together for the first time. And then at Elaine's birthday party. Remember?"

Athrun decided that a frown was the safest answer. There was no doubt that Cagalli had a good memory of their time together, but he did not want to indulge himself in the comfort of knowing that she did so. At least, he knew that he should not.

She watched him stagger backwards until his back was plastered to the wall, resulting in him facing her instead of standing beside her. Athrun would have had slid to the floor if not for the wall that supported him. It was metaphorical to think so, but he could not help it. _Right_, he thought cynically. _Support_. He had been trying his best, had he not? Was it too much to ask for a little support for his own?

"Athrun." Cagalli locked him in a solemn eye-to-eye moment. "You've done your best—and still are," she said as if knowing what he was thinking. "I couldn't be any happier with how supportive you are. You're loyal and encouraging, and I'm so thankful for that."

"But...?" he inquired, knowing that she had not finished yet.

"But when you try to fill the emptiness in yourself, you forget who you are."

He looked away. "And just who do you think I am?"

"Only you can answer that." Cagalli offered a small smile, and he saw it from the corner of his eye. "As for me, I know this man before me right now as a great friend, a great co-worker, a great guard, a great foster father, a great mobile suit pilot, a great ally and a great brother."

"Sounds more like Kira than I," he muttered, realizing that it was her way of saying: _you're Athrun Zala_.

Cagalli just shrugged, her delicate shoulders lowering themselves in a friendly gesture. "I didn't mean anything bad, though."

Exhaling loudly, he raked his fingers through his hair. Strands of it fell into his face, almost shadowing his eyes. "Sometimes I think you really are like Yzak, Cagalli. One moment he's being a great buddy, but the next moment he's a jerk. Being supportive to me and then backing off. A friend once, a stranger next. It's—I can't really find the word—tiring, you know." He had not meant to hurt her, but he did anyway—and he knew.

"Well, have you tried to understand him?"

"I've tried to understand _everything_!" he cried in dejected desperation. "Five years, Cagalli! Five good years and yet it seems that nothing has changed! Not me, not Yzak, not the world or its people!"

Wishing for everyone's happiness was nothing but wistful thinking, he comprehended. He had seen good and bad sides of the world. He had seen corpses of men who died for what they believed were the best ideals but were actually nothing more than a delusion. He had seen parentless children—like Shinn, Dietmar, Kira, Lacus, Cagalli and even himself—who did not deserve to suffer the grief of growing up by themselves. He had witnessed what despair and sadness could bring into being. He had seen and experienced madness. He had experienced how heavenly it was to fall in love and how poignant it was to have said love wither and die. _We all don't deserve all of this_, he reflected. _We—_I_ deserve a little bit of happiness, too_.

And Cagalli's decision was not helping at all.

He did not—could not—accept her decision to be the bait to pull sick-minded rodents out into the light. Surely she knew what danger her decision could bring, did she not? Athrun knew he could not make her change her mind once Cagalli was settled, and the helplessness only worked to increase his burden. The burden of responsibility. The burden of guilt. His lifetime burden.

"...You don't have to do this. Please."

"Last time I checked, _Cagalli_—not Athrun—is the Head Representative of Orb," she said. "I can decide for myself what's best for me. Let me do that. Allow me to be who I have to be." She stepped closer, leaving only an inch between them, their foreheads touching. "You're my pillar, and I can't ask more from you."

A sudden lump crawled into his throat, and a strange burning was in his chest. Athrun swallowed it all back into the pit of his stomach, feeling suffocated. This was the very person who meant the world to him, who was worth fighting for, and said person was saying that _he_ was her pillar instead. The idea of it all was utterly preposterous and absurd. How could he support anyone, much less one _Cagalli Yula Athha_, when he could not support himself?

"I don't want you to risk yourself," he whispered, still not giving up. He would be damned if he did.

"Oh, stop that. Last time you forced your thoughts into me, you left to rejoin ZAFT."

Athrun winced at her tone, her choice of words, and at the memory. He could not tell why Cagalli should rub on that very wound now, and he was angry. At her, for bringing it up. At the world, for forcing him to do it back then and to become who he was today. And mostly at himself, for being so powerless. "And last time you forced your thoughts into me, Cagalli, I was abandoned with not even a word of explanation."

Deep down, Athrun had wanted her to rage about it. It still hurt like hell, and the wound was too deep to heal fully. He wanted to see if she was as upset as he was. He wanted to see if she was as hurt as he was. He wanted to see if she was as lost as he was. It was so selfish and low of him to think so, but he was, like he believed, _powerless_ against the pull of these thoughts.

She did not.

Cagalli's smile was tender when she raised a hand and laid it on Athrun's smooth cheek. _Never forget to shave before you go out of the house_, she once said to him. He did not forget it. He never forgot her words, her figure, her image—each and every single thing about her. He could never forget her. Athrun slowly covered her hand with his, letting her warmth seep into his being. He closed his eyes, for once letting himself be drowned again in her affection if not love. Anything he could receive from her was a treasure, be it affection or merely the concern of a friend. Athrun's other hand searched for hers, linking their fingers together, using the hold to bring her closer to him. They were closer than ever in these past five years, in the way, Kira once said, they were supposed to be. Athrun and Cagalli. Nothing more, nothing less. Just them.

"...Can't we really have 'us?' he whispered hoarsely, half-choked by his own emotion, not even realizing that he had spoken the thought aloud.

Athrun cursed himself as Cagalli started pulling herself away from him, distancing them. Her hand was still on his cheek, but he could sense the distance already.

"We both know that's not the issue right now," she said quietly.

"You're running away again from the problem," he countered back. _From me_, he added silently.

This time, she pulled away completely, though still standing close to him.

Unable to look at her in the eyes, he looked away again. "I'm sorry." One could only ask so much at one time, and he was asking too much, really. For some moments, neither of them said anything. Sometimes Athrun believed that he was not the only one who asked why and kept teetering on the line they had drawn themselves. Yet then again, it looked like he was the only one who continuously kept dreaming a dream that would never come true. _So be it_, he thought. _If there's anything I can do to support her, I'll do it—even if it means to stand on my side of the line._

Cagalli poked him lightly on the chest, trying to lighten him up. "I know, Athrun. I know you care for me, for Orb. Oh, and do you notice that you're the one who's like Yzak? Showing that you care in your own way, that is."

A small, forced smile came to his lips. If he could endure this for the 'them' they would never be, then he would. "I don't think I want that."

"Seriously, Athrun, he's a good man. Good buddy."

"A lion a beast tamer can't ever tame."

She gave out a light laugh. "I would give anything to see you act as a beast tamer."

When they returned to Hathaway's office, the old man was alone. Athrun looked around in search for Yzak and Dearka, but they were nowhere to find.

"They've just left. No more than five minutes ago," Hathaway explained, smiling knowingly. "Took you long enough to pull yourself together, son."

Athrun mildly flustered, like a boy before his enlightened teacher. Hathaway and his intuition. "You old gaffer," he commented light-heartedly.

"Great man he is—Yzak Jule, I mean. Great buddy."

"You're the second person to rub it on my face today, Hathaway-san."

"Oh, is Cagalli the first?"

Cagalli coughed once into her hand, trying to get the business on track again. "If there's more to discuss, I'd like to have a detailed account of what we're going to do."

"At your service, Your Excellency." Hathaway led them to a more secluded space in his office that turned out to be a small library, giving the way for Cagalli to enter first. "Alex?" he asked when his deputy did not move from his standing place.

"I... need some more time alone, I think."

Hathaway, thankfully, understood and did not push him for an answer. "Come inside when you feel you're up to it."

"Thank you, Hathaway-san."

He sat on the sofa, stretching his legs. Imagining that Yzak was still sitting in front of him, he murmured softly, "Will you laugh at me if I say I admire you?" _Of course he will. It's Yzak we're talking about; a man who will never admit that he's a friend of mine even if his life depends on it_, Athrun thought, slightly amused at the silliness of the question. Yzak was a man of his words for sure, but he was a man of his actions even more. Now that he had given a thought about the silver-haired man, Athrun realized that Yzak did not bring the bloody, mutilated hand only to frighten them all. It was an alert, actually, of what they might possibly experience if they continued to involved themselves in this problem. In the end, it was Yzak's way of saying: _back off if you're not ready or if you have a lot to risk, and let me take care of this._

It did mean a great deal for a _friend_ to do so.

Taking a deep breath, Athrun shuddered. Yes, he had much to risk. Now that he was a civilian, he could not depend on the military to cover him. What he put into action was his responsibility alone. With that, he also put those around him into the waiting arms of danger. In particular, it meant Yzak and Dearka, Hathaway and Kisaka, Bartfeld and Ramius and La Fllaga, Meyrin, Kira—still a fugitive who now lived under the name of Mark Siegfried—and Lacus and Elaine, Dietmar and even Cagalli. In general, it meant lots of people. He knew a little of his enemies this time, let alone their identity. True, he had a list of suspected culprits, but even Kira admitted that the range of suspect was way too wide to be narrowed. Too many people were involved, and he could not even sort the innocent from the villain. How was he able to hinder those he cared about and those innocent from peril?

_Villain, eh?_ he mused. He had been in this boat before, believing that the world was meant to be divided into two. Black and white. Good and evil. Naturals and Coordinators. Whoever sided with him were his allies; whoever did not were foes he was to eliminate. Every so often, even today, Athrun wanted to again board that boat, that simple and plain boat.

Yet he had learned that it did not take too long for his boat to be swept by the tidal wave.

First came Lacus and Kira, and along with them then came Cagalli. He was changed completely. Kira killed many of his comrades, Athrun knew, but he did so to defend their friends. What made him a foe in the eyes of a Coordinator made him a comrade in the eyes of a Natural. Cagalli was an exceptionally remarkable case of it all. Until even today, she had not revealed her side of the story, remaining an ordinary heir of the Athha line and never mentioning about her true relationship with Kira or the late Uzumi. She was a distinguished and much loved leader of her people, but she also kept a serious secret for herself. What she had done sounded all too much like a treason to him, but who was he to reveal her secret out and open?

Entirely disgusted with his thoughts, Athrun decided that had he been in Cagalli's position, he would just have done the same. They had a similar determination. He had his dire need for peace and people's happiness, and she had her unwavering belief in people's genuine desire to live in peace. In such trust, she forfeited herself. Martyrdom was not an alien idea to Athrun, for he had once believed in it. He enrolled into ZAFT to ensure so that others did not have to taste his losses. Cagalli took the position as Orb's leader to keep her country, and afterwards the world, safe from harm.

The both of them meant only to protect, but did they really protect anything?

_I've become the man I dread the most_, he thought, terrifying horror filling his mind. _I've become my father; a lost man who doesn't know how to cope with his loses and hopes._

Groaning, he dropped his face into his palms. Thinking would get him nowhere for this time. He had, after all, his own responsibility to bear and work to do. Facing faceless enemies was indeed a new story for him, but facing reality was yet another. There was so much to risk, but still.

He would not give up.

With that in mind, Athrun heavily dragged his feet into Hathaway's library.

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Notes:

(1) inspired by an early scene in _Elizabethtown_ where Alec Baldwin and Orlando Bloom are talking about Bloom's great fiasco in Baldwin's shoe company.


	5. Chapter 5: A Belladona Princess

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: they belong to Tomino-sensei and Sunrise. My imagination is all I have. This is proof-read, criticised and propped up by the glorious beta o' mine, fledgling. If you want to say something, tell her how great she is.

I'm so thankful that you still follow this fic around. I know my update's slower than before, and I truly apologize for that. I can't promise to finish this fic asap, but you have my words that I'll do my best. After reading this chater, some of you may argue that the _SEED _universe isn't as realistic as in this fic, but for the sake of this fic, I'll make you cry blood later. Just don't strangle me.

And I need commentary, really. You know how hard it is to continue if you don't know what your readers feel. Constructive feedback is much welcomed and cherished.

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**Chapter 5**

Dietmar forgot how to blink as he reached the kitchen that morning and saw the person who shared the Dino house with him.

Athrun looked up from the recipe book he was currently reading. He had not been able to come home yesterday, his meeting with Hathaway and the other staff keeping him busy. He only just had the chance to come home this morning. The only time he had to update Dietmar of his wellbeing was last night, when he phoned the boy, and that was before he got his appearance... amended. "Hey, morning. I'm going to cook. Want anything specific?"

The boy finally blinked. "Y-you—I mean, your hair..."

"Oh. This?" Athrun reached to scratch at his now shorter tresses of hair, smiling, though they were no shorter than his usual appearance of these late five years. "You told me to cut my hair, so I did. My hairstylist said I look fresher and younger, though I believe she says the same thing to all her customers."

"Only a day of not coming home and the—uh—what's the word again—ah yes—womanizer is back," Dietmar commented dryly, putting his book bag on the kitchen counter and coming closer to Athrun. "Guess your fans would be screaming your ears off if they saw you."

Athrun frowned. "Who taught you that word? No, I'm not a womanizer and no, I'm not cutting my hair merely to impress women. I haven't even seen any women since I cut my hair, and I'm going to make sure that not even one woman is going to see me so soon." Washing his hands, he rolled the sleeves of his long-sleeved yellow shirt up, ready to cook.

Dietmar groaned, only just noticing the shirt that Athrun wore. "For your own sake, Athrun, not that shirt."

"Hm?"

"It's..." the boy struggled for words for a moment, before finally saying, helplessly, "...yellow." (1)

"It's yellow indeed." Athrun looked at his own shirt, a frying pan and a spatula on each of his hands. "Why?"

Dietmar only rolled his eyes.

Their kitchen was small but comfy, its counter attached to the wall and a bar table with three chairs before it. They were usually at there during breakfast, given that it was morning and they did not have time to leisurely enjoy the meal. However, during lunch or dinner, Dietmar preferred to eat in the living room, while watching a rented movie or the daily news. Athrun cooked and washed the utensils, and Dietmar would dry them; that was their chore management. Aside from some small misfortune in the first days of living together—with Dietmar not-so accidentally dropping a few plates or mugs—the two of them managed their task well enough.

Athrun had never thought that he would find himself in this kind of situation, standing together in a kitchen with a boy child, cooking dinner. Even during his cadet year in the ZAFT Academy, he knew little to nothing about cooking. Nicol strictly banned him—and Dearka—from the kitchen ever since they blew an electronic pan unknowingly. Being the room's caretaker, Yzak had bristled at that incident, blustering all week long about 'idiot bugs who did not know which one was a frying pan and which one was a saucepan.' In the end, Dearka and he got a detention in the form of cleaning the ammo storage chamber. It was Athrun's one and only detention in his military career, however.

Thinking about it—and Yzak—made a small scowl creep into his face.

Dietmar, somehow sensing the sudden turn of his surrogate father's mood, said in a hopefully light tone, "Smoked beef kebab. With lots of chilli sauce. You can, can't you?"

"Three answers. One, we don't have the ingredients; two, a spicy meal in the morning isn't good for your digestion," Athrun preached, voice on the border of boredom. "And three, you, of all people, should've known by now I can't make kebab." The front door bell suddenly rang, interrupting them. "We'll have French toast, sausages, eggs with sunny sides, shrimp salad and milk. End of discussion."

"But—"

"Really, Dietmar, what would you do without me? Kids do need nutritious food."

"Hey, you asked for something specific," Dietmar defended, earning him a glare from Athrun, who left to get the door. "And nobody eats salad for breakfast, you know."

It was Athrun's turn to forget to blink normally as he saw his guest.

"Morning," Cagalli greeted cheerfully.

Finally Athrun blinked. "Cagalli—why are you—I mean..."

Shrugging, Cagalli made her way into Athrun's house. Stopping to change her shoes into home slippers, she said to Athrun, "I came to pick you up."

"Why—yes, I know we have an appointment today—but—"

"Athrun?" Dietmar piped from the kitchen. His eyes widened as he recognized the person that had arrived. "Oh! Princess!"

"Now, Dietmar, no need for such formality. See?" Cagalli waved her hand, laughing. She was wearing a casual outfit, no trace of Cagalli the Head Representative left. Magenta red short-sleeved shirt and loose pants. Blond hair tied back with the help of two simple hairclips. A white jacket draped on her left arm and a small suitcase in said hand. Definitely not the Head Representative of Orb. "I hope I'm not disturbing your pleasant morning by coming so suddenly."

"We are just going to have breakfast, Princess," Dietmar told her. Certain people in Athrun's inner circle—namely one annoying Dearka Elthman and one smiley Miriallia Haww—once told Dietmar of Athrun's record with Cagalli, telling the boy the reason why Athrun was still a spinster today. Since then, Dietmar would do anything he could to make Athrun spill his so-called 'legendary fairy-tale' by himself, and Athrun was as helpless as Kira before Elaine's tears in that matter. Curiosity killed the cat, Kira said, but it would not harm innocent children. _Innocent my poor salad_, he grunted. Damn the curiosity children possessed.

"We would be very honored if you would like to join us." Athrun glared again at the boy, but Dietmar ignored him. Instead, Dietmar positioned himself so that he would be able to lead Cagalli to the kitchen.

"The pleasure is mine, young sir." Smiling, Cagalli took hold of Dietmar's hand and left Athrun standing before the front door. Dietmar beamed proudly at that—because, after all, it was not everyday a renowned leader addressed a boy so honorably.

Having no other choice, Athrun began to prepare the table and the dishes. To his horror, Cagalli had brought a kebab set along with her. Alarmed, he quickly reached to grab the kebab box off the table, and placed it on the kitchen counter. Cagalli protested by uttering out a weak 'hey,' while Dietmar bristled. "No sharp-tasting meals in the morning. That's my rule, and since it's my house, we're going to play by it."

Dietmar sulked. "Stingy."

Cagalli folded her arms. "Haven't you heard that a guest is a king?"

"I have," Athrun replied indifferently, "but a guest is someone who's purposely invited, and you're no king." A slight smile tugged at one corner of his lips as he placed a plate before Cagalli—the kind of smile that resulted in lots of women willing to throw themselves at his feet. "You're a princess. Right, Dietmar?"

Dietmar took his fork, playing it for while. "And someone just said he isn't a womanizer."

Cagalli looked surprised, if not shocked, at Dietmar's final word, and Athrun sincerely wished that Meyrin would arrive soon to take the boy to school.

Eyeing Athrun from the top of her mug of tea, Cagalli finally focused on Athrun's new haircut. "Nice style."

"Didn't you invite the Princess, Athrun?" Dietmar asked, hoping that Athrun would loosen up and let the kebabs be present on the table. His hope died prematurely as Athrun firmly, for the third time, glared at him.

Feeling the sudden need to rub at his temple, Athrun sighed, saying, "Let's just eat."

"Just admit that you're wrong," Dietmar muttered softly, playing with the sweet peas on his plate.

"Wrong?" Athrun challenged. His morning could not get more unbelievable. From the corner of his eye, he could tell that Cagalli was watching the interaction, amused and pleased.

"Saying that not even a woman is going to see yo—mmph!" Dietmar yelped, his words cut off sharply as Athrun covered his mouth with a hand in the twinkling of an eye.

"Yes?" Cagalli raised both eyebrows, waiting. And still smiling that not-so innocent smile.

"Nothing," Athrun gave an awkward, forced smile in return. "Nothing important at all."

Meyrin came at the just right time, because Athrun did not think he could prevent Dietmar any longer from blabbering information that could spoil his credit in Cagalli's eyes. The counsellor seemed taken aback by Cagalli's presence in the Dino household early in the morning, but she did not say anything. Instead, she just wished Athrun good luck in the improvement of 'dull love life,' and that got her a rather forceful push from Athrun to get inside her car. He did not mind letting Cagalli see the bordering-on-ugly sides of him, but his private life was something he was reluctant to share with anyone, let alone Cagalli.

Still fairly annoyed, though not angry, Athrun turned to Dietmar. "I'll try to call every night," he said, stroking the boy's hair. Due to the oncoming World Peace Conference, Dietmar would stay for four days in the Athha Mansion with Kira's family, though Kira himself was going to join Athrun in the security web for said conference. He had packed everything that Dietmar would need the day before, and the boy did not protest Athrun's schedule. They both had come to terms with how busy Athrun was going to be from now on. "Be a good kid and stay away from trouble, alright?"

Biting his lower lip, Dietmar looked a bit hesitant before he finally giving Athrun a timid hug. "I think I'm the one who shall say that to you, you know," Dietmar said, his voice faltering a bit.

Smiling, Athrun knelt before Dietmar and hugged the boy back. "I'll take care of myself. You can promise me that, too, can't you? And after this, no more work. We'll go on a vacation, anywhere you want. Not even the Princess can make me change my mind. Just you and me. Deal?"

Dietmar let go of him, staring at his foster father, and nodded. "It's a promise?"

"I promise."

Athrun thanked Meyrin and waited until her car disappeared on the left turn. Cagalli stood behind him, leaning on the doorway, a quiet observer of Athrun's morning. She offered a small smile as Athrun turned and stood before her. Her stance made her look like a housewife who had just sent her husband and children off for the day. The inanity of the idea tempted Athrun very much to say it aloud, but he knew better and held his tongue.

"So?" he began.

She tilted her head. "So?"

Athrun put both hands on his hips, his gesture almost mocking, but he knew that she would not feel offended. She knew him, did she not? "Where's Kisaka? Where's your group of bodyguards?"

"I have one here, don't I?" She pointed at him, a single fingertip touching Athrun's yellow-shirted chest. "It's my last day off before the Conference, and I don't want to be guarded in this entire, precious day. Guess."

"You gave them a day off, too?"

"Well, Kisaka complained a lot, though."

Athrun took her hand in his, squeezing lightly, half to reassure himself that the person before him was really the person he would protect with his life, and half to make sure that said person was really there to spend the day with him. "And I get none?"

"You're an exception." Cagalli pulled her hand back, grinning. "I promised you this. It's to make up for your loss of another day off." (2)

Yesterday, Cagalli had asked him if he could spare a day. A make up like I promised, she had said. Athrun had the feeling that Cagalli asked him for his sake, knowing that Athrun desperately needed to lighten up a bit, and he did not have the heart to turn down her offer. What was wrong with taking what he was offered, really? This was Cagalli, and she was going to spend one full day only with him, of all the people she could be with.

Besides, he knew she needed to lighten up herself.

"Your car?" he asked.

"Kisaka dropped me here, and that's all." Still grinning, she watched as Athrun closed the door and headed to his room to get his stuff. "You're my bodyguard, my driver and my manager for today, right?"

Athrun rolled his eyes in pure sarcasm. "I wouldn't dare say otherwise, Princess."

"Glad to hear that, Mr. Dino."

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It was with thanks to Kira's advice that they both agreed to have a small escapade outbound. It was time for the lover of beauty to appreciate the beauty of Nature, Cagalli had joked. Athrun wondered if she would stop teasing him with the 'Orb's-most-wanted-man' topic, but Cagalli insisted that he should just accept it because it was the people's choice. _Vox populi, vox dei_, she recited.

Athrun shut up at that.

Cagalli was already in the passenger's seat by the time he opened the car door and to get inside his car. "Come on." Cagalli patted the driver seat, grinning. She had already fastened her safety belt, and her small suitcase and white jacket lay on the back seat. Her spare clothes, she had told him.

Sitting, Athrun fastened his safety belt. Dietmar's yellow duckling figurine on his dashboard looked like it was watching them, its pony—though he had never seen a duck with a pony—shaking lightly as he geared his car, ready to drive them away from the hectic life of Orb's capital city.

"Safe drive?" he asked.

"Safe and _enjoyable_ drive," she answered, warning evident in her tone. "I will not tolerate you driving like mad, as if a devil was licking at your heel, and I will definitely not tolerate a 200 km/h speed."

He laughed. "You're exaggerating things."

In fact, he drove most carefully when Cagalli was with him—more than he did with anyone. Ever since Cagalli hurt her head in the middle of the chaos of their first visit to the late Dullindal at Plant, he had been extremely attentive about her safety in any kind of mobile transportation. Once he had greatly irritated Kisaka when he refused to let Cagalli ride a horse on a rural farm in Orb. Cagalli had never ridden a horse before, he said, and there was no guarantee she would not hurt herself. He could stand the secret scolding of the farm's owners, but he could not stand not keeping her from harm if had the chance to.

Their destination was a conservation park in a small mountain not too far from Orb's capital, but it was secluded enough for those who wanted to be closer to Mother Earth. Athrun left his car in the parking lot and decided that they would take a walk from the conservation's gate. They did not have any problems with the ticket-checking, despite the fact that some people whispered among themselves as they saw Cagalli, but from experience Athrun knew that no one would really believe this was the Orb's Head Representative. After all, the common logic was that a person rated VVIP would not be around unguarded.

Still...

"We'll head for the river," he said.

Cagalli nodded, taking her jacket and suitcase from the backseat. "Lead the way."

"Now listen and don't say anything," he said, staring straight ahead and not looking at Cagalli. His tone was light but composed. "There are four—no—five men hiding behind the bushes and in the trees." He saw Cagalli quickly glance around, but she without making a palpable move. "Your staff, worry not. Maybe even from my Office, too—probably under Hathaway-san or Kira's orders. No, it's not because of a transmitter, in case you were wondering. I think they tracked us from the signals of our cells. If you want to, I can bring us escape from them. The decision's all yours."

Her grin was more than enough of an answer.

"Come with me, then, Princess."

They began to run the moment she put her hand in his. They ran and ran through the lush greenery, through the beautiful woods. For Athrun it was like riding a carousel when he was young. Around him were neon-bright lights, and he knew he was safe because his beloved mother was behind him, in case he tumbled from the white, wooden horse he was riding. This time, he had Nature around him, and the person behind him, running and following him purely due to trust and the simple need for joy, was Cagalli.

He tightened his hold on Cagalli's hand as if she would vanish if he let go.

Trees, bushes and flowers of many colors passed by like smeared blurs. Athrun tried not to leave any trails behind. Even a broken branch or stepped grass and leaves could lead their pursuer to them, but Athrun knew better than that. He even managed to get Cagalli to follow his steps, and thanks to her previous experience in battle, it was not like teaching algebra to a kindergarten student.

They finally reached the end of the conservation park, a bit panting for breath but laughing gaily. The men supposed to follow and guard Cagalli were nowhere to find now, and Athrun could not help but beaming at his skill in track-eluding. Despite the guilt and nightmares, being a soldier benefited him well, really. Not even Kira, the ultimate Coordinator, could best him at that.

All so sudden, Athrun stopped at one turn. Cagalli almost shrieked as Athrun pulled her to bend down near thick belladonna bushes using the hold he had on her hand. "Quiet," he whispered, his hand covering her mouth without waiting for her response. They could see two pairs of black shoes near them, close to Cagalli's face. Athrun's hand was so warm, but she could not help the shiver as the black shoes stopped there.

They both held their breath.

_Just go_, Athrun prayed silently.

It took two minutes for the black shoes to really disappear, and Athrun finally pulled his hand back.

"Do you think they've," standing, Cagalli gasped, somewhat breathless, "lost us?"

"Think so." Smiling lightly, he offered to carry Cagalli's suitcase. _But I'll have to face Kisaka's wrath, or Kira's preach tomorrow._ With both of their cell-phones turned off, tracking would be more difficult, especially in a wood like this. Only a professional tracker could do manual tracking, and unfortunately—or he should say 'luckily' this time—there were only a few capable trackers among Cagalli's men. "For those who are familiar enough with belladonna, they won't think of it as a good hiding place."

"Why?"

"Its fruits are, to put it simply, poisonous. Black like wild blackcurrant, but it's actually the colour of a witch's mantle. To animals, they're less dangerous, but to humans the fruits can lead to hallucinating state of mind or trigger some allergic reaction and at worst death," Athrun explained, trying to avoid giving examples of Kira and his painful childhood experience with belladonna. "Sorry for before," Athrun made a move, indicating the hold he had had over Cagalli's mouth just ago, "but it's necessary."

"I guess I should thank you for that. And did you say belladonna? A beautiful princess is hiding a princess," she said, straightening herself. "This feels like we're eloping, doesn't it?" She caught herself as she saw a gloom flash on his face. "Oops. Wrong word?"

"You flatter me, Princess."

"Sarcastic."

"Am I?"

Running away together to hide themselves from the world would be a national disaster, and Athrun hated the idea of ruining the entire Orb solely because of his selfishness. Yet still, the idea of their eloping was still able to bring a miniscule amused smile to his face.

He quickly stopped the train of amusement dead. _Oh my. You're getting delusional, Athrun, and it's _not_ funny_.

"You deserve the praise, Mr. Di—Athrun."

The sound of a branch cracking under his foot was deafeningly loud as a sudden silence grew between them. Stopping, he turned to face her, not knowing why he did so and not knowing why he needed to brace himself against a tree. Later he thought that maybe it was because he was readying himself against what would happen after Cagalli uttered his name in _that_ way. It was like when she stubbornly yet endearingly stated that she could not, and would not, let Kira and him die before their last flight in the First War; the one moment where he found, in her eyes, a will to keep on living equal to Kira's. It was like when she visited him at the sickbay after his infamous defeat at the hands of Shinn's Destiny, the one loss that would have cost him his life, had he been less appreciative of it. It was the way she said it, filled with determination and strength and lov—

He swallowed. "Pardon me?" _Coward_, his inner self spat at him.

"I said you deserve it," she repeated, "Athrun."

That. His true name again.

"Only now you acknowledge my brilliance," he said finally, carefully evading the sensitive subject.

She shrugged. "A praise is not a praise if it's said too often."

Reaching the river bank, Cagalli rolled her pants up to her knees to avoid wetting them. The river was not deep, actually; its level only reached the height of a man's calf. Athrun, on the other hand, was not too eager to play in the water no matter how calm the stream was. In spite of everything, his last experience with water turned out to be drowning inside a badly destroyed Zaku in a deep, dark ocean. So he just sat there, watching her play in the water and with Nature.

That brought back memories of a girl who, even though she'd been tied and bound, blissfully enjoyed the pouring rain on a stranded island.

Raising one knee, he placed an elbow on it, allowing the hand of that elbow to support his chin. Just like before, he was the only audience to witness this side of her, one that did not display the rigidity or the posture or the fake smile for the purpose of politeness.

_No one_, Athrun thought possessively, _no one sees her like this but me_.

_And where does that bring you, eh, Athrun Zala?_ his inner self piped up again.

He frowned, the scenery around him suddenly darkening as if centring on him. True, his shoulder had been the one trusted place where Cagalli would cry on. It was also true that she always comforted him and lent him her strength as he did for her. They were a picture perfect example of what two people should be, but it did not mean the road ahead was smooth for the two of them.

_Not again_, he groaned. _Not now wh—_

Splash!

"—en!"

Cagalli, already laughing so hard that she was doubling over, raised her head as she heard the monosyllabic word that went through Athrun's mouth during his initial moment of shock. "What?"

Athrun wiped his face with his sleeve, half-grumbling at her childish behaviour and half-cursing himself for being so unguarded. So deep was he in thought that he did not notice that Cagalli sensed his sudden quietness and decided to distract him. "That's just so you," he muttered softly, knowing that Cagalli would always be Cagalli; outspoken yet sensitive, carefree yet insightful. She would chide him first for brooding and ask later. That, too, did not seem to change much.

"Excuse me for disturbing you then, though you're the one who's supposed to be the guard, actually." Grinning, she clapped her palms together to bless his face with another splash of river water.

"You're just delighted to see me suffer."

"Why, you know me too well, Athrun." She came to sit beside him. The two of them were a strange combination to say at least, if truth be told, for Cagalli had already divested her shoes and rolled her pants up, while Athrun still very much in his clothing, neat and dry. She elbowed him on the arm, saying, "Afraid to mess up your perfect look?"

"From what I recall, you plus water equals complete silliness," he retorted wryly.

"I'm not silly."

"Really? Now let me refresh your mind a li—Cagalli!" Surprised, he almost squeaked—'almost' being the potently stressed word here because men did not squeak and he certainly would not—as Cagalli grabbed one of his feet, pulling it under her arm to untie the shoelaces very quickly and very efficiently. The next shoe came undone afterwards, and Cagalli promptly put them behind her, keeping them from Athrun's reach. "What now?" he rasped, looking at his now naked toes wiggling on the earth, as if wanting to hurriedly hide from her.

"Feel." She pressed his feet to the earth, the green grass now touching the soles of his feet.

He waited patiently for a while, letting his sense of touch experience the sensation. The lush, velvety feeling of the grass was cool and ripe, in contact with his skin, some blades of it slipping through his toes. A part of Earth. A part of the land of Orb. The very land that Cagalli devoted her life to.

"Yes," he breathed, covering her hands with one of his. His thumb put a gentle pressure on the back of her palm, tracing one of the now noticeable veins. Her work made the not-so pretty looking veins visible for any eyes to see, but her hands still felt the same. "Yes, I feel it."

She gave him the biggest grin he had ever seen in her face in the last five years, an I-told-you-so expression on her face. It bordered on being smug, but it was also heartening to see this sincere side of hers. Rising, she pulled him to stand, too. "Now that you've learnt to feel, it's time to experience."

"Cagalli," he warned uneasily, realizing where this would lead to. "I've told you that you and water—"

"You face two great wars and survive, but you're afraid of mere water? Don't tell me th—aaah!"

SPLASH!

This time, Athrun's entire front became wet, nothing left dry. Despite his drenched front and the fact that he did not bring any spare clothes, the sight before him made him laugh harder, louder, and more genuine than ever. Cagalli was sprawled on the riverbank and drenched even worse than him, as her slippery footing brought her down, her hold on Athrun's hand helping little to nothing. The colour of her magenta-red shirt turned black as the cool river water seeped into the material, her hair now plastered to her face and neck. This time the satisfied I-told-you-so expression was perched smugly on Athrun's face.

"Just great." Cagalli pouted, and Athrun honestly admitted that he missed her pout. "So great."

Helping Cagalli to her feet, Athrun simply smiled and said teasingly, "Make sure that you don't have any crabs under your shirt."

"Very funny, Athrun. Very funny."

0+0+0+0+0

They ended up lighting a fire to warm themselves, because it was fall and the weather would not get any warmer, though it was still afternoon. Cagalli curled up, huddling in the comfort of her jacket; her wet shirt and pants hung on one of the branches of a tree next to them. Athrun was forced to take off his shirt and wore only his sweatshirt. In spite of his lack of modest clothing, Cagalli seemed to be pleased, as he was no longer wearing the yellow shirt.

"The duck."

Athrun raised his head, the sharp blade of his knife hovering above the piece of timber he was coppicing. "You say something?"

"The duck in your car. It's like you now. Your hair's sticking out and—and your shirt's yellow."

Stopping his coppicing for a moment, Athrun threw another twig into the fire before them, careful not to make the fire bigger than necessary, for there was a rule not to start a big fire in the conservation park. The idea of being similar to Dietmar's duckling was... amusing. At least for Cagalli that was. Actually, as long as she did not blabber it out to another people, it was fine with him.

"What would your fans say if they knew of your resemblance to a duck?"

Now that was some annoying teasing. "You're amused by the idea; that'll be answer enough."

She narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

He just shrugged.

"I'm _not_ one of your fans, if that's what you're thinking," she scowled, flushing both from the cold and the embarrassment.

He shrugged again, grinning. "You voted on the poll, too, anyway."

"That doesn't justify your accusation."

"It's the truth, not an accusation." He eyed her clutching the white jacket closer to her body as if wanting to protect herself from further mortification—or him.

So was that their relationship, where they both stared at the line and asked themselves why?

He did not want to answer that right now.

"Fine, you're not one of my fans," he verified, trying to bring back the light atmosphere. Then, "A closet fan, maybe."

Instead of giving up to her irritation and glaring at him, Cagalli just kept quiet momentarily before she scooted closer to his right, their arms now touching. Athrun was hesitant to look at her, being this close and only by themselves, so he focused on the timber in his hand.

Cagalli watched the way his hand deftly handled the knife, slicing and scratching here and there into the wood. "You're always that skilful with a knife," she said, making a comment instead of asking a question.

"Hn."

"Don't 'hn' me." She nudged him on the ribs.

"Hey, careful. I'm holding a knife here," he chastised, swiftly relocating his knife to his left hand. He did not want to accidentally injure her.

She was more surprised than offended. "You can use your left hand as well?"

"I'm ambidextrous." _Don't you know that already? Or maybe you've forgotten_, he thought a bit glumly.

"Since our first meeting," she continued, "I knew immediately you're a pro with a knife." She put her chin on her bent knees, her fingers toying with the grass beneath her feet. "The way you bested a person holding a gun. And that one move when I tried to attack you when you slept." Cagalli let out a soft chuckle. "You know, this feels like we're replaying that time."

He also laughed in turn. "No, don't replay it. I don't want to get shot twice by the same person."

"Oh, come on. I've apologized for that, right?"

"Right."

Still laughing, though more softly, Cagali shifted to lean her head on Athrun's shoulder. He stiffened at first but quickly relaxed, drowning in her soothing presence. At times like this, Cagalli needed less words and more silent companionship. As Kira broke down after his ill-fated clash with Le Creuze in Colony Mendel, Cagalli had—being unable to turn to anyone else and realizing that Kira had already had Lacus at his side—trusted Athrun to be with her in one of her most vulnerable moments. She grieved and worried about Kira, but above it all, she felt utterly helpless, knowing that she could do nothing to ease Kira's pain. It was more than a relief for her, Cagalli once told him, that he had been there for her.

Now that he thought about Kira, Athrun wondered what Kira would do had his best friend known what he was doing now, that he was here with Kira's only sibling, the sister whose worth was equal to Lacus'. Kira was always patient and gentle; good-spirited, beautiful Kira to whom he always had protective tendencies during their days at the Moon. Only twice, he thought, that gentle Kira had raged towards him. The first had been for Tolle—and it was also something that always made him rather uneasy in front of Miriallia; the second time was for... Cagalli. The time that he visited Orb after he re-enlisted into ZAFT, he witnessed how such a quiet person could be so different in anger in concern of others' well-being. Kira was beyond upset, Athrun knew, but at the time, he too was upset and perplexed.

"_Athrun, you and I—we both... just can't die yet."_

That was what Kira said before he launched to have a talk with his father. It meant that there were so many wrongdoings he needed to right, that he had to come back alive, that there were people waiting for him when he returned, that there were people who would be sad if anything happened to him. Even the word 'glad' was not enough to express what he felt as he realized that Kira did not hold a grudge against him. He was, despite everything that had happened between them, happy to have Kira back in his life, and to know that even if he strayed this time, he would stray with a friend. Cagalli herself said so; Kira missed him as much as he did.

And that caring Kira, even more so than Kisaka, was the most protective of Cagalli.

More than once Kira had warned him about toeing this line of his and hers, and Athrun could not just disregard the warming. Cagalli and Kira were precious and dear to him; he would not want to risk losing their value for him.

"_You don't understand her. You don't understand what she's doing—and trying to protect. For that, I'll stand in your way."_

Or, worse even, maybe it was that he really did not understand Cagali at all, like Kira had said previously, on the beach with Saviour looming behind him. He did not understand why she was here now and how she really felt, and maybe Kira would truly squeeze the life out of him, slowly and painfully, for doing so.

"You know," Cagalli's even voice interrupted his thoughts, "you're really not much different from before."

"Care to elaborate?"

"You always have this." She rubbed on the frown beginning to come into view on his forehead. "When you think too much, that is."

He pulled back from her touch. "It's fine."

"Haven't I told you? Sometimes thinking by yourself won't get you anywhere." A flicker of emotion was in her eyes, brought up by memories impossible to forget. "Sometimes it's better to share."

And what was there to share, really, he wanted to ask, but instead he said, "That's not enough to claim I'm no different from before."

"I didn't say that you were no different; I said you're not much different. In regards to that, I can make a list, actually." Smiling confidently, Cagalli began to count off his traits with her fingers. "You still comb your hair the same way, from right to left. You still shave regularly and use the same aftershave. You still drive like mad—and that's one thing I hate about you. You still drink coffee with two blocks of sugar and no milk. You still eat kebabs with chilli sauce—and still can't make it by yourself. You still dress your salad with lots of mustard and less mayonnaise. You're still fond of bright-coloured clothing. You're still good with a knife and gun, and you're still the best shooter with the best accuracy among my staff."

He kept quiet, but his gesture encouraged her to go on with her list.

And she did. "You still don't think that I'm Kira's _elder_ sister. You still care a lot about Kira and Lacus—and maybe right now you're thinking Kira will kill you for 'kidnapping' me today. You don't get along too well with children, but you care about them and take care of them as well as you can. No, don't tell me you don't because you know it's true; remember what happened with the children in Malkio's orphanage, Dietmar, Elaine and that time you helped Shinn and Lunamaria? I'm right, aren't I?" She paused, taking a breath, then said, "And you, regardless of your well-timed sarcasm and sometimes frustrating protectiveness, are still my most important person."

Something hammered in his chest, tightening and coiling so viciously that he could not inhale air into his lungs. Something burnt inside him, an eternal, fierce fire like a phoenix that would never die. Time, the ever so powerful and unstoppable supremacy in the universe, seemed to slow and stop the moment their eyes met each other's. There was only pure honesty, sincere and naked in its glory, and the feeling was so tangible he could touch it with bare hands if he wanted to. This was the starkest and yet the most hidden secrecy between them, the simplest and yet the most complicated picture of the two of them. They had nothing more to hide and nothing less to lie about.

If it had been anyone else, he would have said that she was cruel. Giving him hope and yet never taking his hand was cruel; but this was 'them' and he understood 'them.' Just like she would always be his strength and pillar, he would always be one of Cagalli's important people—if not the most. They meant and mattered to each other. That was for sure, and that would never ever change.

_There's one thing you neglected to note, Cagalli_, he reflected, _and it's that I still have you in the position of my most important person, too._

_My most important person._

_Always._

"I... have changed, too, you know," he murmured.

"Oh?" she raised her chin defiantly.

"For someone who previously only knew how to handle a gun, I bought a pair of running shoes and another pair of basketball shoes simply because Dietmar asked me to. Instead of test-driving every new model of mobile suits, I accompany Elaine and Dietmar to the amusement park when Kira can't. I no longer make Haros, but now I cook well—and if I can't make kebabs, that's only because I can't tell between a hotdog and a kebab."

"Just like you couldn't tell between a frying pan and a saucepan?" She tried hard to bite back the surfacing laughter, but it was to no avail.

One corner of his mouth twitching, he grunted darkly, "...I'm really going to kill Dearka."

She slapped him playfully on the arm, laughing merrily. "Hey, there's no need to commit homicide merely because I know your dirty little secret."

"Bet he was laughing his ass off when he told you."

Her laughter faded into a series of soft chuckles, wisdom in her pondering eyes as she gazed at the other side of the river before them, her blonde head once again on Athrun's shoulder. "...The only constant thing is change itself, isn't it?"

He pondered, then said, "I'm sorry. You know... for being childish yesterday."

"Childish? For expressing what you're thinking? I don't think so."

"Still. I shouldn't have burst it all out on you. There's more elegant way of expressing my thought."

Her hand rose up to seize his elbow, staying there to assure him that she did not mind his behaviour yesterday. It was intimately warm, and her warmth seeped through his skin to his soul. Giving up at finding words to say, he tilted his head and rested it upon hers, his cheek against her hair. She always let him come close to her, like yesterday in the corridor behind Hathaway's office, but he knew that by doing so, what she wanted was from him to really know her.

To _really_ accept 'them.'

"This feels nice," she whispered, voice muffled against the skin of his arm, her breath making his skin tingle. "This feels nice, this _is_ nice, but after tonight, we're going to exert ourselves hard for the Conference. Tomorrow I will be the Head Representative once again, with you and Kira and Kisaka worrying about me all the time." She paused before asking in mild hesitance, "Kira will, won't he?"

He nodded, once again giving a monosyllabic answer, "Hn."

"I don't know if I should be happy or not about that," she lamented.

It meant that she did not want Kira, or anyone else, to risk his life for her. The World Peace Conference was a big stage and also a dangerously precarious one for Kira. By working side by side with Alex Dino, Mark Siegfried once again risked the safety of his secrecy. If his true identity was revealed, Kira Yamato would once again be forced to show himself to the world. That, consecutively, would also drag in Lacus Clyne and Elaine Siegfried and many others. Also, there was some confidential intelligence information that Kira shared with him these days related to the small-scale suspicious militant group from the Neo Equator, and it continuously worried him to no end.

Either his or Kira's fall would be the fall of many people.

"Kira insisted," he said. _I knew I shouldn't have let him, but I couldn't do anything._ "I'm sorry."

"You can't say no to that brother of mine," she countered, voice full of trust in Kira. "You must know it runs in the blood. Stubborn is our middle name, actually." She laughed lightly, though her tone quickly changed into a more serious one. "Have faith in him, Athrun, and in yourself, too."

"It's—I know. I trust him, Cagalli. I do trust him with all my life. I just—"

"Kira will be alright," she affirmed. "_You_ will be alright."

The resolved determination in Cagalli's voice made Athrun unable to do anything but believing her.

She knew the inner battle within him all too well, having seen it countless times. Athrun sometimes pushed himself to the brink for the sake of the ones he cared about, and, though it did not make her happy to see him weigh himself, she understood that he believed it made his fight worthy. He was glad that she understood. Having something to fight for and to protect really meant something to him. Uzumi himself had said so; a sword should only be a sword if it was used to protect. (3)

Strength was only an empty word if it meant nothing for others.

Cupping his chin, she looked at him, seeing the inner turmoil and anxiety. "Don't worry too much, alright?" As he gave a small nod, she glanced at the finished timber in his hand. "What's that?"

Both began to smile as he lifted his handiwork into view, then both burst out in mirthful laughter.

It was a duck.

0+0+0+0+0

They returned to the Athha mansion a little late that night. Kisaka was fuming by the time Cagalli contacted him to let him know about her whereabouts. He was definitely not happy about the guards that Athrun and Cagalli escaped from. Kira, too, once again became the good brother, snatching the phone from Kisaka and half-screaming into Athrun's ear, saying that they had responsibility for being good grown-ups.

"Protective, isn't he?" Cagalli grinned at him as Athrun gave her cell-phone back.

"You bet," he muttered dryly.

"So I'll see you soon, then?" Cagalli asked as she stood before the gate of her mansion. Athrun leaned against his car, waiting for her to get inside.

He simply nodded, having only one thing to say in his mind. All that he had been thinking lately finally centred to one final decision. No more doubt, no more self-distrust, no more self-pity.

"I will not fail," he declared, the strength in his voice belying the soft words he uttered. He did not need to take one of her hands and kiss it, like a knight from a sappy movie would do, but he knew she would understand this was coming from his soul. "I will not fail you, Cagalli. I promise."

Cagalli gave him that one kind of a smile again, full of understanding and acceptance, her eyes showing equal strength and unwavering trust. "You'd better be." The tone was light, but the weight behind the words was not.

It was, simply put, _everything_ about them.

They did not look behind at each other as they parted.

0+0+0+0+0

Notes:

(1) Remember the yellow shirt Athrun wears when visiting Lacus in _SEED_? Yeah, it's that. Athrun doesn't particularly have problems with his clothing, but I do have a personal disliking against men wearing yellow-coloured outfits.

(2) Cagalli's visit to Dietmar's school on Chapter 3.

(3) from _Destiny_ Phase 40. I altered a bit of Uzumi's speech in his will when Cagalli's given the Akatsuki, "...I hope it'll be your strength, the strength to protect."


	6. Chapter 6: A Soldier and His Domesticity

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Notes: Partly was inspired by _A Sub-Enchanted Evening_ episode from the series _Commander in Chief_. I like political movies and dramas, yes. Now, frankly speaking, sometimes I'm tempted to leave this story for a more light-hearted writing. Do me a favour and tell me that I shouldn't leave just like this, would you?

A gigantic basket of love for dearest Fledgling, whose patience and support I will always cherish.

0+0+0+0+0

**Chapter 6**

_H-5 Before the World Peace Conference_

_GMT +5, East Indonesian Time_

Athrun decided that he hated the rain.

The soil beneath his boots was wet and slippery, and the skin under his field uniform felt clammy. Drops of rain constantly wetted his face. Next to him, pressed against his right arm, was an equally soaked Shinn Asuka. Crouched behind Shinn were three men, Athrun's subordinates in the National Domestic Security Affair Office. They had all taken shelter under a giant tree in unfamiliar tropical plantations, and had to hunker down as low as they could to the wet earth. Every now and then Athrun could smell the sickening smell of moist bryophytes around them.

Athrun glanced at the military watch on his left wrist. Operation Salvaging Freedom was due in twenty three minutes. A Nazca Class submarine was secretly waiting for them on off-shore of the Republic of Indonesia's territory, but it seemed that they had no easy way to get there. The Papuan forest, the most unadulterated part of the border of Neo Equator and Indonesia, definitely was not one to be conquered easily.

"I hate this forest." Shinn said what Athrun was unwilling to say aloud. "Have your ever been in a forest where the mosquitoes are as big as your fists?" _Not only are the mosquitoes here carriers of malaria, they're probably the results of a mutant experiment_, Shinn thought.

"No. But I've been in an island where you can find as many crabs as the number of hair you have."

"You're kidding." Shinn snorted, his breath coming out as a puff from his mouth.

Athrun glanced again at his watch. The compass told him that they were in the north-east direction of their supposed goal. "It's time."

"I take it you've planned everything down to the details." Shinn paused, then, "Have you?"

"No, I haven't," Athrun answered truthfully. "I've only been in this area twice. And it's a forest; nothing stays the same."

Shinn exhaled loudly, growling in his throat. "I thought you—never mind."

Athrun was almost sure that Shinn recollected the time when he first acted as Shinn's commanding officer in a liberation operation during his re-service in ZAFT. (1)

"Sir, we're running out of ammo," an agent piped in. "All that's left are two hand-grenades, one pack of full-metal jacket bullets and several darts."

"Darts?" Shinn asked in disbelief and half-annoyance—that was expected, though. "I'm stuck with a bunch of nature-hookers. Just great. I forgot that I'm with David Livingstone here."

"Traditional weapons are effective here, Shinn. They're poisonous. Primitive, I know, but adequate in times of crisis. Now, gentlemen, get your pack," Athrun ordered, reaching for his rifle and rising. He gave the weapon to his former teammate. "Shinn, take the front position. I'll be behind. We're the only ones who still have enough ammo." The _we're more capable to handle this than them because we're Coordinators_ remained unsaid, however. "We're moving."

Shinn nodded sullenly. They were being pursued by a tracking team and thus being followed closely at their heels. It was one thing to be a good tracker, Athrun realized, but it was another thing entirely to avoid being tracked. Commonly, people thought that rain would erase any footpaths or broken twigs left, but the truth was, the wet earth would cause deep footpaths, clear enough to see—and soldiers tended to leave deep footpaths. After all, soldiers were trained to put most of their weight on the joints of their big toes in order to move faster and lighter.

In addition, a well-trained soldier like Athrun could pick out a faraway noise even through the sound of the rain hitting leaves and the forest floor. "Our pursuers are getting closer," he said. He knew that the ship would leave, according to the plan, if they did not reach it in time.

Shinn had never looked more solemn than he did during that moment, when his eyes met Athrun's.

0+0+0+0+0

_H-6 Before the World Peace Conference_

_GMT +15, 16.12 Orb Time (2)_

_Cagalli and Dietmar blinked repeatedly when they found the person they were looking for. Athrun was lying on his stomach, looking like a human cactus with acupuncture needles jutting out all over his back. He was almost naked except for a pair of short boxers. Cagalli raised her brows as she too noticed the needles. They were very thin, even thinner than hair, but she could not help flinching anyway at the sight of them on Athrun's back._

"_Kira-ojiki said acupuncture will help him to relax," Dietmar offered an explanation. "So Athrun did make an appointment today."_

_She realized that Athrun always looked uptight, especially after their so-called break. "But why acupuncture? Why not, for example, taking a sauna bath or going to a massage house? And why does it have to be done _here_?" She put stress on the last word. It was true. Even though Kira was the person who occupied the Athha Mansion the most, the grandiose castle-alike mansion still belonged to Cagalli, the Athha heir._

_Dietmar only shrugged. "I don't know, Princess."_

"_Kira is really the king of all that is evil." Sighing to dramatize the situation, Cagalli shook her head. "I really am surrounded by masochistic people."_

"_Is Athrun?"_

"_He's the worst."_

_Dietmar face fell lightly. "Oh."_

"_Forget it." Cagalli waved her hand. "Dietmar dear, do me a favour? Tell him to see me in the library in ten minutes. Can you do that?"_

"_Yes, Princess."_

"_That's a good boy." She patted his head and turned to leave. Not long after her departure, the doctor who was responsible for Athrun's acupuncture session came into the room. Pulling out all the needles, he gently shook Athrun to wake him up._

_He rubbed his eyes. "I'm asleep?"_

"_Isn't it obvious, Mr. Dino?" the doctor said good-humouredly._

_Cracking the joints of his fingers, Athrun then reached for his shirt next to the make-shift bed he was lying upon. Slipping both arms inside, he wore his shirt but left two upper buttons unbuttoned. Next went on his black, loose pants, but he did not tuck his shirt in. "Thanks, Doc."_

"_It's an honour to service you, Mr. Dino." The doctor smiled. "So? Have you decided to believe in holistic treatment?"_

"_With an exception for green tea, I think so." Athrun accompanied the doctor to the doorway. Only after the doctor left did he turn to Dietmar, who was waiting patiently at the side of the room. "Something you want to tell me?"_

"_First things first, Athrun, I think you should button your shirt up," Dietmar paused, then said while grinning, "unless you want to flirt with hot chicks with big boobs down there on the beach."_

_Athrun's first reaction to Dietmar's foul choice of vocabulary was to glare heatedly at his boy. He knew exactly the very person to blame for this. He strode furiously to the room next to his and opened the door without announcing his arrival beforehand. "Keep your filthy stuff out of my boy's reach when you're around him, Dearka!" he bellowed._

_The room's residents, namely Dearka and Miriallia, could only stare at the newest occupant that just barged in. "What the hell, Athrun?" Dearka rose to come near his friend. "Butting in like that. What if Milli and I were in the middle of making out?"_

"_Would you be making out without locking the door?"_

"_Well, it's more interesting to have an onlooker, don't you think?"_

_In a flash, Miriallia smacked the back of Dearka's head soundly, giving Athrun a small sense of satisfaction. "Ignore him, Athrun." She turned to Athrun. "Tell me again?"_

"_Tell your man to keep all of his stuff away from children when he's here," Athrun said, not caring that his shirt was still gaping open. "It's one thing if Dietmar tries to understand Freud's writing in my study, but it's completely another thing to read... adult stuff in his age."_

"_Protective, aren't you?" Dearka taunted._

_Athrun glared more crossly. "If you can't keep your libido in check, at least don't spread it around. There are innocent children in this place, you know."_

_Miriallia pulled Dearka aside before he could shoot back at Athrun, but Dearka was quick to retaliate. "What, Milli? I was just trying to make that boy loosen up. After all, that boy needs attention." At that, his poor head received another loud smack from Miriallia. "Hey! There's no need to express your affection physically in front of another man!"_

"_And this 'other man' happens to be the father of the very boy you're disgustingly trying to corrupt," Miriallia hissed dangerously close to Dearka's face, the low tone in her voice indicating how irritated she was. "You're so going to explain to me, Dearka Elthman."_

_Athrun had had enough. He was not going to witness any more arguing sessions between the two. He left Dearka's room only to find Dietmar had tailed him, now standing in the hallway. "From now on, you are to stay away from things you're not old enough to know. Is that understood?"_

_Dietmar nodded weakly, giving Athrun his kicked puppy look. Athrun hated it the most when the boy was close to tear because another puppy called guilt would follow him afterward._

"_Are you upset?"_

"_I'll be lying if I say I'm not," Athrun answered dryly. "But it's not your fault. Not entirely." _I can be blamed, too, for not paying enough attention to you these last weeks._ "I admit that I'm upset, so don't do it again." He crouched before his boy, bringing himself to Dietmar's level. "Promise me?"_

_Dietmar looked guiltier. "I'm sorry."_

_Athrun wanted to say that he was sorry, too, but he held his tongue, knowing that his boy had something to tell him._

"_The Princess is waiting for you in the library."_

_Athrun offered a weak smile. "I thought she told you not to call her Princess anymore."_

"_But I like it."_

"_It doesn't mean she likes it, too." Athrun ruffled Dietmar's hair. "Well, I have to go. Go find Kira-ojiki and Elaine and wait for me, will you? We'll have dinner together." It would be their first dinner together in a while, actually, since the World Peace Conference was approaching. As Dietmar disappeared from his sight at the turn in the hallway, Athrun immediately headed to the library._

_Coincidentally, he met Cagalli halfway to the library. Elegant blonde eyebrows rose in half-amusement and half-irritation as Cagalli took in his appearance. "However nice it is to see the expanse of your skin, please button up your shirt. I know it's summer break, but we're not on vacation."_

_He knew immediately that this was Cagalli the Head Representative of Orb speaking. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry." He did as he was asked._

_As he recognized the people already in the library, Athrun realized in gloom regret that his precious dinner with Dietmar had to be postponed. The mere sight of Yzak, Hathaway, Kisaka, and some members of Orb Representative Council standing together brought Athrun a sense of ominous foreboding._

0+0+0+0+0

_H-5 Before the World Peace Conference_

_GMT+15, 23.39 Orb Time_

A mobile suit pilot is extraordinary. A pilot must be able to withstand the gravitation force to a sometimes unbelievable level. A jet fighter pilot might have to endure up to 5G, but a mobile suit pilot, especially those in outer space, might have to face up to more than that. Death is inevitable from that point, the reasons ranging from losing consciousness to the inability to adjust the internal organs to the higher gravitational force. For this reason, there were proposals offered to ZAFT to limit the number of times a soldier someone could pilot a mobile suit in his or her service.

Somehow Athrun wondered if Yzak would toss the proposals into the trash bin right away.

Athrun could feel the expected shake as the Nazca Class submarine he boarded coming out from the depth into the water surface, abandoning the pressure of the ocean a while ago enveloping and trying to clench the submarine into remnants of metal waste. Though long used to being a pilot, he wondered if his stamina could only handle so much. He swallowed to wet his dry throat. Boarding a submarine _and_ a space shuttle right after was not a healthy practice even for a professional pilot, he knew. _A pilot perhaps is extraordinary, but he's still a human._

"Someday your body won't be able to catch up with all the pressure you've endured."

Opening his eyes, Athrun turned his head to the side. Shinn was looking straight ahead. It was only when he knew he had Athrun's attention did he turn to look at his former commander. "That's what Dullindal once said to me and Rey. You know, back then. In FAITH."

"Oh."

Shinn closed his eyes. "As we grow older, there's only so much our bodies can handle. Gravitation force is only one simple example." He paused, then, "I think that's why we Coordinator were made. To make up for the loss of tolerance of the body, that is."

"Born," Athrun corrected dispassionately. "Not made."

"It's nothing big in disparity for us," Shinn countered. "It's human's nature to be greedy; they always want more. Want to be stronger, cleverer, faster. Want to be more in everything, anything. It's the only reason why there are us—Coordinators."

Athrun leaned back again in his seat. "I know someone who once thought like you."

The emotion that flashed on Shinn's face did not escape Athrun's keen eyes. "Kira-san?"

Athrun only smiled faintly.

Knowing that he would not get further confirmation from Athrun, Shinn slowly leaned back into his seat. "I wasn't surprised when they told me you need a hand. I think," Shinn considered his next words for a while, then continued, "it's time I'm needed, and it's time to answer Kira-san's call."

Athrun did not say anything. Five years ago, Kira and Shinn met each other for the first time in front of the Memorial Site for Victims of War on an Orb's coast. _We will build this world anew_, Kira had said back then. _Even if there will be people who step on the flower of peace we've grown, we will plant it again and again._ (3) Athrun himself, never being asked the same thing, was honestly glad that both Kira and Shinn were now on a better term.

Athrun knew that a month after the younger man's first meeting with Kira, Shinn resigned his post in FAITH and returned his badge back to the ZAFT Supreme Council. He had been astonished when Shinn privately came to him the night before the day Shinn returned his badge.

"I will never be anyone's weapon again." Athrun raised his head again at Shinn's words, and this time Shinn was looking at him, eyes open, determined and clear, without any hesitation. "That's what I promised you—and myself—five years ago."

And suddenly the realization hit him. A pilot was, by all means, a weapon, and the use of a weapon depended on the user. "I... didn't mean to take an advantage of you," Athrun said glumly.

Shinn shook his head quietly. "I know." He offered a small, awkward smile to Athrun. "But if it's you or Kira-san, I am willing to go even miles to answer."

The submarine finally reached an Orb Military base. It was Athrun's personal request not to make this operation public, and Hathaway had granted him his request. "I'm going to report to the Head Representative. You could head to the Athha Mansion. I think Lunamaria's already there." Athrun smirked as he noticed a short scowl slip through Shinn's lips. Some things just never changed, really. Shinn's inability to hide his feeling on his face was only one of those things.

The younger ex-FAITH member only rolled his eyes in a well-aimed sarcastic gesture. "Say that to yourself."

Athrun faked a dejected sigh. "But who am I to kidding, really?"

"You're Dr. Livingstone, I presume."

0+0+0+0+0

Cagalli, for all the time that Athrun had known her, had been a woman of integrity. Being one of the heroes of the Second War, she continued to bear the responsibility of being the servant of her people today. As the Head Representative of the Orb Representative Council, she was responsible for the policy of Orb and its dealing with other sovereign countries. For that, Athrun was glad, because he knew no other person more suitable for the office but Cagalli.

Cagalli's office in her current residence, the Athha Mansion, was spacious but not intimidating. Unlike other Orb Representative Council members, she did not brag with royal ornaments in her office. The only tribute to the noble blood that she inherited was an ancient gold sword on the wall, together with a photograph of her late father. Though he understood Cagalli's preference for a formal style, Athrun was a bit saddened by the fact that there was nothing to prove that Cagalli had a family of her own. Or, to be more bluntly, there was nothing about Kira or Elaine to be seen in Cagalli's office.

It was as if in the life of Cagalli the politician there was no room for her family.

The door was opened. Turning towards the direction of a voice, Athrun gave a formal salutation to the office's owner. "Her Excellency."

Cagalli diminished the salutation with a nod. "Cut the formality, Athrun. I take it that Operation Salvaging Freedom has succeeded, hasn't it?"

"Our three agents have headed to Morgenroete. I'll hand you the full report of the mission tomorrow."

Releasing a long sigh, Cagalli threw herself on one of her sofas. She looked utterly worn out, sporting bags under her eyes, and Athrun had a good guess that she had not allowed herself even a blink of sleep in the last two days. Guilt once again ate at him.

"You should rest."

Cagalli immediately threw him a cross look. "What makes you think I can rest during the time like this?" Somehow, he could hear the silent accusation in her words. "For Haumea's sake, Athrun, your actions can lead to unnecessary clashes."

Athrun considered his reply for a while then he said, "We didn't fail."

"I know you didn't." The thin line of Cagalli's lips turned into a diminutive pout. Athrun almost wanted to smile, but he knew better. "I don't like going about ifs or buts either, but in my position, everything's a possibility."

He understood. Politics was the art of possibility.

Cagalli heaved another sigh. "Don't do that again." The warning, and, to some extent, the plea referred to both his previous act and the one following the previous.

Athrun understood what she meant, but his tongue was tied, for he did not want to promise he wouldn't do it again. He was responsible for sending an intelligent team to the Neo Equator's territory to investigate a hidden camp belonging to the radical group—the one who had previously sent them a threatening message. He was responsible, too, for the fact that the team had gotten stuck in the middle of the Papuan forest and had been in critical condition when its existence was discovered by the radical group and the hovercraft intended to carry them back to Orb was drowned. That was why it was only natural that he, the supervisor of the intelligent mission, had to retrieve the team back himself according to the back up plan he had set up.

Athrun could still remember the gazes that fell onto him as he entered library in the Athha Mansion yesterday. None of them were appreciative or sorry, not even Hathaway's, but he could bear that. After all, his major and foremost responsibility was Cagalli's well being. He did not care about anything else. Or rather, he would not. That was why one and a half hours after he was granted the consent to execute the rescue mission yesterday, Major Alex Dino found himself boarding a space shuttle to PLANT to have access to Shinn from Dearka's unit.

"I want you to understand that you've risked the lives of our men by sending them to an area hardly known to our intelligence," Cagalli said. "And I want you to know that acting on your own without giving any notification to your superiors can be considered disloyalty or even treason."

He frowned. The charge was serious, but why could not Cagalli understand? Why would she risk her own life above others' lives? "The team has retrieved useful information that can be used to our advantage. I believe that was the main purpose of the mission."

Giving up a strangled moan, Cagalli messed her hair, making it look more untidy than usual. "Why don't you get it?"

"Why don't _you_ get it?"

"I will not risk Orb for anything."

"Not even your own life?"

"Yes." The instant answer held not even a scrap of hesitation. "Not even my own life."

Athrun was silent for a long time. There was no point to argue right now, he knew. _We have world peace, but we don't have any peace of mind for ourselves._ That was the price, and he knew that it was their burden to bear. Lacus had to give up the chance to show up in public with Kira and Elaine, while Kira had to live under an alias, like him. Athrun sometimes wondered if Cagalli had made the biggest sacrifice among them all. _She doesn't give you up, Athrun_, Kira once had said. _So don't ever think to give up on her either._ Yet Athrun forlornly knew that Cagalli had given up a life she had desired the most, a life where she could simply be not an Athha.

"I'm not ungrateful that the mission's accomplished, but I'd prefer other possible moves." Cagalli quickly raised a hand, effectively stopping Athrun before he could respond. "Remind me again that we have a hierarchical structure of organization. As for the sending of an intelligent mission, I believe you need my agreement to be able to send one."

Athrun wanted to slam his hand on Cagalli's table. "If the intelligence needs your agreement on each and every single small thing, it won't take too much time to see this mansion bombed."

"This isn't a small thing," Cagalli retaliated. "We're talking about our men being sent to a country that doesn't have a good diplomatic relation with us and where a radical group possibly hides. So let me repeat this until you get bored and finally listen to me, _really_ listen to me: this can be a serious diplomatic offence." At that, Athrun became silent again. Looking away to watch the light rain through the window, Cagalli continued, less hostile though still clearly upset, "There are more important things we have to deal with right now, but I expect more careful action from you in the future."

Despite his uneasiness towards the recent situation, Athrun could not help but think of how much Cagalli had matured these past few years. _Up to the expectancy of your people_, Athrun thought, but he quickly shook his thought. _No. Not someone to fill Uzumi-san's shoes. It's her. She'll do it as herself._

"It's for you."

Cagalli snapped her head up at that. "So it doesn't matter to risk our men's lives or yours for mine? It doesn't matter if Orb has to face a diplomatic conflict as long as I'm safe? To hell with it, Athrun! I know you're just taking a step ahead, but—" Cagalli was on the edge of shouting with frustration. When Athrun was being stubborn, she knew there was nothing that could bend him. If they were to continue discussing this sensitive subject, all they would do was running in an endless circle. "...Forget it. I think you'd better take your leave. Good night."

Half disappointed, Athrun was forced to bend to Cagalli's authority no matter how he hated being forced. "Yes, Your Excellency." At the doorway, he paused, his steps halting. "Have a good rest, Your Excellency."

On his way to the exit of the mansion, he ran into Hathaway. It seemed that Cagalli was not the only one who was unable to get any sleep. They both came to a halt in their steps, facing each other.

"So," Hathaway began. "I believe she's already done the lecturing, am I right?"

"My apologies, sir." He knew that, deliberately or not, he had gotten Hathaway into this tangled mess.

The old colonel shook his head. "I'm used to having similar words thrown at my face. Not to be boasting here, Alex, but I've been in this field longer than you." Hathaway tilted his head up, staring at the white ceiling. "I've been here since Narendra Reinhardt was the Head Representative, the one before Uzumi-san. I've served four Heads, three of them from the House of Athha. I've watched leaders struggle with foreign policies, secret missions, science research and tax cuts. It's really an honour to have their trust." He averted his eyes from the ceiling to Athrun so that he faced his deputy. "You're the youngest deputy to ever work under me, and I'm not one to judge people by their ages. I know your ability, and I admit that you're one of the best aids I've ever had, if not the best. We know that there are some things better left unspoken," Hathaway paused, clearly referring to Athrun's most hidden secret—his true identity, before continuing, "and I still trust you, Alex."

To Athrun, the unspoken yet demanded 'why' rang all too clearly.

"Hathaway-san, this is entirely my responsibility. I knew perfectly well from the beginning when I set this up that this could possibly endanger you, and I never want you to be in a difficult position because of me." _Too bad, Athrun_, he said to himself. _You've already put him in a difficult position._ "Have I failed you, sir," he swallowed the sudden lump coming to his throat, "I would do my best to make amend for it."

"Alex." The old colonel stood placed one of his hands on Athrun's arms. "Answer me this question, just this one." He was now looking into Athrun's eyes, his grey eyes grim but still coloured with fatherly gentleness. "Tell me who you are loyal to."

Athrun did not expect this kind of question, truth be told, not from Hathaway. Did Hathaway want him to answer that he was loyal to Orb? Or to the Representative Council? Or to the Head Representative? To him, loyalty mattered a lot. It was easy to say something, anything, but he did not want to lie to Hathaway.

"My loyalty isn't to Orb or to the Representative Council," Athrun finally said, grave and definite. "It's Cagalli Yula Athha I serve."

Judging from the absence of shocked expression on Hathaway's face, it seemed that his superior had guessed his answer all the time. "What if she fails your trust?"

Athrun recalled Cagalli's upset look just before, his stomach tightening suddenly. "There's no if. She loves Orb too much to let it happen."

A weary yet understanding smiled dawned on Hathaway's face, reminding Athrun so much of Kira's own smile when his best friend preached him about his not-so healthy but ever growing devotion to Cagalli. "I really am getting old, aren't I?" He patted Athrun's left shoulder caringly. "Go home, son. You need your good night sleep."

The clock on his car's dashboard, placed under Dietmar's yellow duckling, showed that it was 02.52 when Athrun finally left the Athha Mansion. And it was still raining, though lightly.

He really hated the rain.

0+0+0+0+0

_H-4 Before the World Peace Conference_

_03.38 Orb Time_

Of all people that could already be awake before dawn, Athrun never thought that it would be Miriallia. The photographer, too, looked a bit surprised as they met by chance in the kitchen.

"Hey," she greeted. "Just arrived?"

"And you're already awake."

She beamed a wide grin, not minding Athrun's bored tone in stating the obvious. "I was looking for one of our books—mine and Dearka's." In no time, in her hand was a copy of Jared Diamond's _Why is Sex Fun?_ At Athrun's rolling eyes, she said, "Finally found this in your room, under Dietmar's pillow."

"What?"

"Oh come on, Athrun. There's nothing graphic in this book."

Athrun shook his head dejectedly. "I wonder why I trust Dietmar in your care when Kira and I are off."

"We never can be sure about that, can we?" She winked playfully. "Well, will you be angry if I say it's because we're nice and Dietmar likes us?"

"Whatever, Milli." He pulled open the refrigerator door to grab a bottle of water and downed its contents in a swig.

Miriallia whistled briefly at that. "You must be hungry. If you want, I can cook something."

"I can manage it." Athrun moved to open the cabinets one by one, looking for anything simple he could cook fast and eat. "Where's Dearka?"

"Off with Yzak-san to welcome Lacus-san at the military airport," she looked at the clock above Athrun's dark head, "at 4.15."

"Really?" Athrun halted, putting eggs and vegetables on the kitchen counter. "I didn't know she's going to be here that early. Well, actually I just want to say thanks to Dearka for allowing Shinn to help me—it's really a big aid."

"The conference isn't going to run until four days ahead, but yes, she'll be here today." Athrun realized that Miriallia, being a Getty Images photographer, would be in the Conference, too. That was why she was here in the first hand, after all. "Anyway, Athrun, do you read _Extravaganza_?"

Vaguely, Athrun remembered hearing the name, but he could not pinpoint anything about it precisely. _Must be something off politics_, he thought. "Why?"

"Geez, Athrun, it's not really that awful to read gossips sometimes, you know. Just read tomorrow's copy."

"What's in it?" He cracked open two eggs and mixed them together with vegetables to make an omelet. Once in a while he read such newspapers, but he admitted that he never paid attention to one named _Extravaganza_. "If this has something to do with another ridiculous polling, I have no interest for it."

Grinning, Miriallia raised both eyebrows. "Why? Afraid of someone jumping you, Mr. Most Wanted?"

"Of course not," he scowled. _Why can't cracks about that Most Wanted issue stop?_ It was heartening to be able to see a sense of humor these days, but Athrun did not want anything to do with his so-called triumph in Orb's Most Wanted Men poll. "So?"

Still grinning, Miriallia reached inside her jacket—Dearka's jacket, Athrun noticed, because it was two sizes too big for her—and put a photograph on the kitchen counter, next to the bowl Athrun used to prepare his omelette. "This is one of them."

Staring wide-eyed at the photograph, Athrun's jaw dropped immediately.

"What?" she challenged. "Interesting as it is, it's not mine, I swear. I just want you to know this will be on _Extravaganza_'s front page tomorrow. And you can't sue them, you know. The beach is not a private beach, not even if the site around it belongs to the Athhas."

"Milli," he groaned, feeling the need to have another acupuncture session to lessen the sudden rising headache.

"And this," Miriallia placed another photograph near his hand, "is the one I want you to see." Noticing the deep frown and the troubled, darkening expression on Athrun's face, Miriallia almost wanted to take the second photograph back. "I don't think it has anything to do with the Conference, but _Globe_, _Le Monde_ and _Time_ will put this on their front pages tomorrow—I mean today."

"No," Athrun mumbled, his voice shaking, though too lightly to be noticed. "It has _everything_ to do with it." The second photograph involuntarily reminded him of Dmitrij Feyedorov's unneeded opinion for Cagalli, the one asking her to consider transforming Orb into a republic. He guessed that Miriallia knew, too, about Feyedorov's efforts to stick his oar in Orb politics. For her to do this much, he really owed Miriallia then, although actually they had never engaged themselves in a long conversation before. "Thanks for letting me know, Milli."

Miriallia smiled knowingly. "No problem, Athrun. I'm a little bit uncomfortable myself with their... closeness."

His omelette was now ready to be served. "Want some?" he offered.

"Thanks, but no. I have an appointment with Erica-san at 05.00." She let out a light laugh at Athrun's disbelieving expression. "You're not the only one with a ridiculous schedule, you know." She turned to head back to her room, having to prepare for the day. She was a war photographer first and politics photographer then, after all. Who was better to dig news from than the Director of the Scientific Research and Manufacturing Office of Orb, the world's leading country of advanced technology research and also one of the most politically handful countries on Earth? After all, it was not a secret that Cagalli was closer to Director Simmons than to Orb's Minister of Research himself.

Athrun picked up his plate of omelet and put it on the table, pulling a chair to sit. He brought the two photographs near his plate. The first one would create an unnecessary gossip, if not a scandalous uproar of his private life, really. There was no need at all for the world to see an almost naked Alex Dino, wearing only a pair of swim shorts and a ruby-stoned necklace, wet hair slicked back, at an Orb's white-sanded beach. It was taken two days ago, Athrun believed in disgust, when he was accompanying Dietmar and Elaine playing at the beach in the morning. He was only fortunate that the daring photographer did not have a chance to take pictures of the children. _Or else they'll title it as 'Prince charming breaks hearts'—though it'll be all the better for me_, Athrun joked sarcastically. He could imagine his co-workers and colleagues—if they were still talking to him of course—jeer at him non-stop at work.

The second photograph, however, made Athrun want to tear it to miniscule pieces or, better, strangle the inept photographer. The photograph could raise such a sensitive issue to the surface, and if it happened, it would be a massive disturbance not only to him but also to Orb and Cagalli. Thinking of the possibility of said disturbance, Athrun almost crumpled the photograph.

The Cagalli in the photograph would never know his distress, though, partially being distracted by the dear embrace and kiss on the cheek tenderly given by Feyedorov.

When Athrun took the first bite of his omelette, the bland taste cruelly reminded him that he had forgotten to put in the salt.

0+0+0+0+0

Notes:

(1) from _Destiny_ Phase 18. One of the most heartening moments between Athrun and Shinn to me is when they liberated a village, that one episode where Shinn was commanded to fly through a dark cavern.

(2) I take the liberty to decide that Orb is in the same time ordinate with Alaska. My current residence, Jakarta, is GMT+7, and Alaska has 8 hours of time difference from Jakarta. I hope it's okay.

(3) from the last scene in _Destiny Final Plus_ between Kira and Shinn on an Orb coast.

As for Shinn's nickname for Athrun, David Livingstone (1813-1873) was a Scottish missionary and explorer. He served during Queen Victoria's reign and was most famous when he became the first European to see the Victoria Falls.


	7. Chapter 7: A Stranger to His Own Time

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: Yadate-sensei's, Tomino-sensei's, Sunrise's all the way...

I'm alive, don't worry. Now I'm back, in flesh and blood.

All thanks to Fledgling, who said the most brilliant of things even when I didn't realize it myself and gave this mental case of a person the bonking when it's needed. Mind you, people, Fledgling said _you can see a person best when you see how he treats those closest to him_ about this Athrun. I've no word to say against that, not when it's left unsaid in this chapter. Isn't she genius?

A note in grammar department: I massacre the English with the regular use of Mr/Mrs/Ms along with –san. It's just that when the characters are in a hierarchical relationship (e.g. boss/subordinate, executive/guard), they use Mr/Mrs/Ms because for me they sound more formal than –san. As for –san, I can't just imagine if Lacus, for example, call people merely by their name, and oh yes, it's one of a few Japanese quirks I love too much to part with. And to some extent, Athrun and Kira are as polite as her, aren't they? Fledgling and I think that it's kinda disappointing that the English had no such thing. Oh well. Just so you know...

For your information, the continuation of _Being Athrun Zala_ will not surpass chapter 15. This is final. And I put some changes on all previous chapters. Please do read.

Do read and later tell me what you think. Criticism is good, encouragement is good, and above all, your feedback is simply keeping me alive.

0+0+0+0+0

**Chapter 7**

_H-4 Before the World Peace Conference_

Athrun was long used to being independent. He had lost his mother at early age, and he entered ZAFT Military Academy not too long after said loss—a loss he was never able to recover from. Ever since then, he always thought that he did not need anyone to look after him. Even so, his quiet nature tended to make people want to look after him, and one of the people close enough to him to do the so-called baby-sitting was his secretary, William Herbert Young.

His secretary beamed at him as Athrun entered. "Should I unplug the phone for the whole day or send again Mark-san's unidentified virus to the callers?"

Athrun groaned. "Neither, Will. I need the phone, and Mark's busy."

Young snorted. "Spoilsport." He reached for a black planner on his desk. "As of now, you have—let's see—thirty calls and twelve buckets of flowers, which I've asked the janitor to get rid of because I know you won't want to see them. Oh, and," Young flipped a page before continuing, "Meyrin-san called twenty minutes ago."

"Did she leave a message?"

Young's grin widened evilly. "Just this: 'Nice shorts, Alex. Have you been working out?'

Athrun wanted nothing more at that moment than to slam Young's black planner to his secretary's head. "Anything else?"

"Heinrich also left a message."

Most of the officers in the National Domestic Security Affair Office knew about Young's preference, and so did Athrun. Nowadays, Young was dating Erica Simmons's deputy in the Scientific Research and Manufacturing Office, Heinrich Ottmar Walter. For someone who was nicknamed WHY by the press, Athrun thought that it was a miracle that Young dated a man whose initials were HOW. _Fate does play a big part in your life, eh, Will?_ he once commented.

_It's fate indeed that makes people meet one another, boss_, Young had replied.

It was too bad that Athrun had stopped believing in fate ever since it messed with his life.

"He said you make him so glad that he's gay."

"One more word about it, Will, and I will personally kick you out of this office."

Young laughed heartily, seizing a copy of the newest _Extravaganza_ from the pile of documents on his desk. "Just accept it, boss. You're a priceless prey for every pair of hungry eyes. It's time to show some skin... and more skin, if possible. And no, you don't have the heart to fire me. Who's going to remind you to take a break, to eat, to sleep or to tell Meyrin-san to accompany darling Dietmar after school when you're unable to do it yourself? Who's going to see to you and your crazy schedule? No one but me. You love me too much to fire me."

Athrun tried his best not to roll his eyes in sarcasm. There was something in Young's tone and choice of words that irritated him. "Pampering me, you mean." Yet deep inside, he knew that Young's claim was justified. Young had been nothing but loyal to him these last five years, and Athrun would not want to waste his time to look for a better secretary.

Done with teasing, Young flipped one more page in his planner. "A press conference for the WPC is due to happen in an hour in the Royal Palace. Colonel Hathaway will be there, and so will ZAFT's Colonel Jule. At ten o'clock, a briefing with PLANT's Ms. Clyne. At twelve, you'll see Colonel Hathaway again. And finally, at three, you're summoned to go to Her Excellency's office. Oh, and _Stars_ has requested a short interview with you—if you have time of course. Should I say yes?" Then Young noticed Athrun's glare. "Well, I guess it's a no."

Athrun resorted to head for his office, but Young's call made him pause his steps. Once again grinning madly, Young waved the _Extravaganza_ with his picture on the front page. "You'd better not forget this," his secretary said cheerfully.

Exasperated, Athrun finally gave in and rolled his eyes.

0+0+0+0+0

Aside from Cagalli, Lacus was one of the few women that Athrun was comfortable with. It had nothing to do with the fact that they had known each other long, even before he met Cagalli; it was just that Lacus had the natural charm to make people comfortable. If Uzumi was charismatic and Cagalli was inspiring, Lacus was both. Though she was one step later than Cagalli in entering the world of practical politics, she had more to handle due to limited support in the PLANT Supreme Council.

Athrun blinked. _What the hell am I thinking?_ he scolded himself. _It's not the time for comparison. They are both precious to me._

"Athrun."

He turned to meet Lacus's eyes. Giving her a soft kiss on her left cheek, Athrun pulled back just to find her smiling at him. Her smile did not change at all, the gentleness in her eyes present like always.

"Welcome, Lacus."

"I thought you would be at the airport beforehand."

"I've only just returned on time." He shrugged. Lacus already knew about what happened in Neo Equator from Shinn, her adjutant, who was now standing not too far behind her.

"I see." She did not have to say anything else to let him know that she understood.

"Shall we?" Athrun offered an arm, and she linked hers with his. They walked together, Shinn following behind. A black PLANT's official limousine would bring them to the Athha Mansion, where Cagalli had been waiting for the briefing he had scheduled. Shinn sat in the front, while Athrun followed Lacus and sat in front of her. The doors closed, and the engine began to run.

"So," Lacus began, just when Athrun began to think that they would spend the fifteen-minute ride in silence, "could you tell me why my adjutant seems less lively this morning?"

"I bet he lost excitement after parting with Dr. Livingstone," Athrun said dryly.

"Pardon me?"

"Never mind." He waved a hand, leaning onto his seat. "I'm glad you're here, Lacus."

Lacus touched one of his shoulders gently. "I heard about the incident in Neo Equator, Athrun. I'm glad to see you're alright." Her face twisted in a genuine expression of worry and concern. "I never thought it's you yourself who had to go to execute the rescue mission."

He realized what Lacus was talking about. "It's my responsibility, Lacus. And I can't accompany you for too long today. It sounds lame, I know, but with me, it's always work, work and work."

Sighing, Lacus lips curled into a somewhat sad yet still concerned smile. "It's a regret you can't stay any longer."

"I'll pay you a visit next time." He smiled to lighten her up. "I'm planning to take a break next month, and hopefully we can visit you."

"We?"

"Dmitri and I."

Lacus smiled knowingly. There was always a first time for everything, and it was a great surprise, at first, when Athrun volunteered himself to take care of the late Captain Talia Gladys's only son soon after Orb and PLANT signed the Peace Treaty five years ago. Even Shinn, the most skeptical of them all, simply accepted Dearka's challenge to bet on Athrun's prospect to live together with another human being—a child at that, nevertheless.

Dearka, however, had lost the bet by 3,000 dollars by now, and until today Athrun never felt the need to act contrite for Dearka's loss.

A touch of sadness grazed her smile. "You look tired, Athrun. And older."

He shrugged again. "Can't help it."

Again she smiled, the wistful understanding in her smile making Athrun wanted to slap himself for bringing it up.

"I've also heard the news about the memorandum of understanding between Orb and Neo Eurasia." Lacus delicately changed the direction of the conversation, and for that Athrun was grateful. "Mr. Feyedorov seems a little bit too much to handle, doesn't he?"

The old Lacus would never talk about people behind their back, but time, as well as wars, changed people. Even Lacus was not immune to that. Feyedorov was a politician, one of the most prominent public figures in Earth's politic world today, and that was reason enough for Lacus to keep an eye on him. It was better to be attentive than to let another Gilbert Dullindal appear. Experience had taught them more than they wanted to know, Athrun knew.

"Cagalli will know what to do with Feyedorov." Athrun tried to brush it aside, but he could not help the bitterness in his voice—and he could not outsmart Lacus.

"Athrun." She reached to clasp one of his hands in hers. "Please don't—" She stopped, looking not really wanting to say what she had planned to say. "It... pains me to see you suffer. Kira said you haven't been yourself lately."

He knew what she meant. It was not that she was prying. Lacus and Kira were among the ones he would confide his life to, and if Kira shared his thoughts about him with her, he understood. It was just that he felt like a spoiled child to have so many people looking after him. Young was right. With the way he paid little to no attention to his own well-being, he would only call for worry. Twenty-three years, but it seemed that he still knew very little about himself. There was pampering, and there was caring. He should know better.

No wonder that even Cagalli always looked a bit strained when it came to him.

Athrun let a smile, though thin, appear on his lips. He clasped Lacus's hands back. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you so much."

Smiling, Lacus pulled him into a hug. He now understood why nobody, Coordinator or Natural, could live alone. He missed the warmth and the closeness of having another person, of having _anyone_; this simple contentment of knowing that he was not alone.

The walk from Lacus's hotel room to the lobby twelve floors downstairs was quiet. Some of her staff turned to look at him when he passed them, perhaps wondering why his face was somewhat familiar to them. _It doesn't matter,_ he thought. _The man they all think they know is no longer here._

Later, when the briefing with Cagalli and Lacus was finished, he suddenly felt ashamed. Lacus, despite her own problems and heavy load, was still trying to comfort him. Kira, despite having to fake his identity, still took the risk and stood beside him to take care of things. Even Yzak, the last person he would have thought to lend him a hand, did. And he did not want to start on Cagalli.

_Always take things for granted, don't you?_ he said to himself. _You really are a horrible, unbelievable joke, Athrun Zala._

It was just not fair.

0+0+0+0+0

Much to Athrun's surprise, Kira was with Hathaway when he showed up at his superior's office. Kira's smile made him wonder if he should mention his and Lacus's conversation.

"Have a seat, Alex," Hathaway said. "Mark is here today to share something with us."

He raised both eyebrows at Kira. "And what is that?" Kira's smile only grew, but Athrun noticed the uneasiness behind his best friend's smile. "Oh, right. I'll just sit here and wait patiently."

"We'll be waiting for one more guest." Hathaway briefly glanced at his watch.

Athrun was going to ask who when a very familiar voice came from behind Hathaway's closed office door. As Hathaway called for the guest to come in, Athrun did not need to look to know who it was.

"Mark Siegfried," Yzak greeted flatly to acknowledge Kira, but he was eyeing Athrun already. "And Alex Dino."

Athrun groaned mentally. His last two meetings with Yzak did not end very smoothly, one of them involving him almost strangling Yzak in this very office. Hathaway must have known this, realizing that his subordinate was definitely not at ease with the silver-haired ZAFT colonel.

"Colonel Jule," Athrun replied stiffly.

"Let's get straight to business." Yzak ignored him and took a seat. Unfortunately, the only empty chair left was the one beside Athrun's, so Yzak had nowhere else to sit but there. He brought a small, silver-coloured metal case to Hathaway's desk.

"Wait," Athrun cut in, alarmed. The last time Yzak brought that type of case, he had terrorised the occupants in Hathaway's office, including Cagalli—and that could be counted as an insult to an official executive. Athrun had a bad forewarning about it this time. "If you're going to show us another mutilated human limb, I'll pass."

Yzak gave him a sharp look. "Then you should just close your eyes and cover your ears, because I definitely don't take any sick pleasure from bringing carcasses around."

"Gentlemen," Hathaway interposed. "Old friends should be able to sit together in peace, shouldn't they?"

Kira tried to hide a grin but failed, and that owned him a glare from Yzak. He coughed into his hand. "I think it's time to get back on track."

Instead of containing a bloody, mutilated hand, Yzak's case held a piece of parchment in a plastic pack. Dirtied and torn on every side, one sentence that Athrun had grown to really, really hate was written on it.

'_A blue and normal world we will have.'_

Kira looked away. Hathaway dropped his face into both palms, groaning. Despite looking the calmest, Athrun's grips on the arms of his chair tightened until his fingers hurt. He felt cold, the despair and anger he had always felt since Bloody Valentine tragedy returning with strength.

"It's written in blood." Kira's voice was uptight as he realized. "Again."

Yzak nodded. "From the method, we conclude it's another message from the same rats," he said. "It was sent to us a day before Ms. Clyne's departure from PLANT. Addressed to my office."

Athrun was silent. Whoever sent the message must have known much about Yzak, because it was not easy to send an anonymous letter to a high-ranked ZAFT officer. "The sender's address?" he asked.

Yzak turned to look him in the eyes. "Orb's Head Representative's office."

At that, Hathaway snapped his head up so abruptly that Athrun imagined his superior must have sprained a muscle or two in his neck.

But it was Kira who beat him to respond first. "It couldn't be."

"Worry not; we've verified it." Yzak closed his case. "It's a faux."

Yzak's words sounded far like they were coming from a space colony. The wheels in Athrun's brain were already running. Of course the letter would be inauthentic; Cagalli would never, ever propose such a letter. The biggest question was not who; it was how. If the letter could pass the front desk examination in Yzak's office—the ZAFT National Guard, it could only mean that the identification and records were genuine.

"As for my part," Kira said, "my team captured an illegal line trying to intervene with our communication line. We investigated it, and just this morning, we got him. Trust me, Alex, you don't want to know the source of the signal." Kira did not stop on account of Athrun's deepening frown. "He's in the Scientific Research Office, secured, but we're waiting to hand him to the National Security Office. I believe he's more for your department, not ours."

"Well," Hathaway said. "We've got ourselves a rat; it's now time for him for spit out the truth, and that will mean information." The old colonel stood. "Looks like our rats have may have an access through a secret tunnel to the Head Representative's office."

Athrun did not need Hathaway's deduction to confirm his biggest fear.

0+0+0+0+0

They left Hathaway and Yzak as the two of them had to discuss the protocols for the World Peace Conference, and Athrun decided that he had learned enough information for today. It was time to act. Sitting in the driver seat of his car, he called Young to redo his schedule for today.

Kira was looking at him strangely as he pocketed his cell-phone. "You're going to drive yourself to extreme exhaustion."

He did not know whether or not he should be glad that it was not a question.

"I suggest you don't."

"Too late. It's been decided long ago."

"Athrun." Kira's hand on his arm stopped him before he got the chance to fasten his seatbelt. "Please. I'm worried about you."

"You're worried, Lacus is worried, even Yzak is worried; everybody's worried about me. I'm sick of having you all worried about me, damn it! Why can't it stop? Why don't you all stop worrying about me?" A small, weak sound in his mind told him that lashing out at Kira would only make him feel guilty and deeply ashamed later, but he did not care. _To hell with taking things for granted,_ he spat hatefully. "And you! Why did you have to keep things from me?" Kira was his best friend. Kira was supposed to understand him the best because Kira had known him the longest and seen the ugly side of him that not even Cagalli was allowed to see. Kira had to understand him, because if he did not, Athrun had no one else to turn to. _I've behaved for so long; why can't I stop and be selfish?_ "Why can't it be that, for once, _I'm_ the one worried about you? Am I so weak to have to always be pampered? Am I that incapable?" He slammed his head against the headrest—hard. The pain felt good; it distracted him from the more intense pain inside.

"Athrun—"

"Don't! I know what you're thinking, Kira; just don't you dare say it. Just don't! If you don't understand me, start _now_!"

Kira did not look affected at all by his outburst, but Athrun was still able to catch the glimpse of hurt in his best friend's eyes. Breathing heavily, he looked away. The parking lot was pretty empty, but he still hoped that the volume of his voice had not attracted anyone. It would become a stupid, unnecessary problem for him and Kira, and he did not want more than he already had.

"I wasn't going to say I don't understand you," Kira said quietly. "I was just going to say I don't understand your actions." Then there was silence, a choking, unbearable silence. "I'm sorry."

Athrun wanted to say that it was he who should apologize, but he was muted. He could not utter even a word, not even when Kira unbuckled his seatbelt. It was only when Kira opened the door that Athrun was finally able to call him, though weakly.

Kira offered him a thin smile. "Done?" He patted Athrun's jacket-covered chest, right above the place where his heart lied. "It does feel better here after you let it all out, right?" He moved to get out of Athrun's car. "We'll talk later, Athrun. There's no need to ask you to cool your head down when you're this wound up. So this is my suggestion: take your time. I'll be there whenever you're ready to talk about it." He closed the door and started to walk back to the office.

Athrun knocked his head once again, this time hitting his forehead against the steering wheel, and wondered what Cagalli would say if she saw how low his view of himself really was.

0+0+0+0+0

"I will be direct and short." Cagalli raised a hand a second after he entered her office, not even looking up from the folder she was reading. "The delegation from Neo Eurasia wants one more security briefing before the conference begins. They're currently in Erica-san's office—a part of Orb and Neo Eurasia's memorandum of understanding in scientific researches. They'll be back by tomorrow afternoon, so you can give the briefing yourself. And don't blame me; it's their request."

Nodding repeatedly, he sat across her. "That's all?"

"No, but that's it for the work department." She closed the folder. Tilting her head, she finally looked at him. "Got yourself in a mud pit again?"

"I had a fight with Kira."

She was silent for a moment. "Oh."

He slumped on his chair. "That's all?"

"As a friend of you two, yes. As his sister, no." He understood the sentiment, really. Kira was the only blood relative left that she had. He would have reacted similarly if he had one, too. So he waited to breach her next words. "But I won't ask why. You two are men enough to take care of things your way, so you'd better not disappoint me. Besides, I think it's just healthy that you two fight for a moment or two."

"Well, just remind us not to try to kill each other again if we fight," he retorted sarcastically. Her calm words had caught him by surprise, because he thought that she would mutilate him and use his blood to write Kira a letter saying that she had avenged him. _That'll serve me right for being stupid,_ Athrun thought.

"I'll do more than that."

He slumped forward, head on the desk and hands outstretched to her. "...I didn't mean it."

"No, you meant it, but it's enough that you regret it."

He raised his face, looking at her. "Has Yzak told you?"

"About the faux letter? Well, yes. Immediately after he received it. Lacus knew about it, too."

He suppressed another surge of anger back into the pit of his stomach. He really hated it when people left him out, and the truth that it was those closest to him that did it hurt even more. First, it was Kira; now, even Cagalli did. He wanted to cry out in frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Cagalli leant close, very close to him. "Don't start now. I know how your mind works," she said, touching a fingertip to his temple. "I don't want you to think I don't trust you enough, so let's be frank. I don't want to add to your already massive responsibility. You've got enough in your hands already."

"So you're just sparing me."

She pressed the fingertip on his temple more firmly. "That, too, is out of question." He could feel her sighing softly. "I have enough guards, you know."

He glowered. "If you've forgotten, Indira Gandhi was killed by her own guard."

She cupped his face, forcing him to look at her again. "We're not talking about this again." Then she let go of him, making his nose thud painfully against the glass surface of her desk. "Yzak was right when he decided not to immediately inform you about the faux letter. You're only going to go nuts about my wellbeing."

"That's what he's best at."

"Getting on your nerves?"

"That, too, but that's not what I mean. It's taking the initiative."

"Aren't you, too?"

He shook his head, nose rubbing against cold glass. "I'm not. I'm best at following orders."

It was the truth he knew that she could not deny. Lacus and Kira were firm believers of the importance of free will, but they had never succeeded in influencing him. Time was proof enough of how he messed up when he took the initiative.

"You really are an idiot," she said softly, with no intention to hurt or mock, knowing where his thoughts brought him.

They did not speak again. Cagalli rested a hand on his head, fingering and fiddling with his hair, strand by strand. Occasionally she would let her hand mould to the shape of his head, fingertips absentmindedly rubbing his nape. It was strange that he actually found peace in Cagalli's office, the very place where they had a quarrel after the incident in Neo Equator, where there were no photographs or decorations to remind her of her family, of him.

Cagalli's hand trailed down the length of his arm, her fingers slipping between his. She brought his hand to her lips and gently kissed his knuckles. He forced himself not to tense. She had chosen, and her choice was not him—and he believed that he understood it. That had to stay between them. He could not waver, or else he would fail. Everything would fail. He just could not.

"Will you love me if I order you to?"

It was so soft, so quiet that he thought it was only his imagination. Cagalli's expression did not change a bit when he searched for something, anything to tell him that he really had heard it.

"Anyway," Cagalli coughed once, definitely trying to avoid that subject, "Can you explain a little about this?" She pulled something out of a drawer.

He stared and stared at the newest copy of _Extravaganza_, the one with his scandalous picture on its front page. Hastily, he leapt to snatch it from her, but she was faster. She put it back in the drawer, grinning wide.

"Not you, too," he warned. "Not. A. Word."

"Come on." She was still laughing, and though Athrun did not hate it—loved it even, he did not like why and what she was laughing for. "You're stunning. Dmitrij's found it good, too."

Though he could feel his face heating, even the tip of his ears hot, he did not miss the name. It seemed that Cagalli had come to first name basis with Feyedorov, and the fact that she did not bother to hide it from him threatened to dampen his recovering mood. He could not let it happen. He needed to stay focused. "You're right; I've got enough in my hands already."

If she noticed his mood shift, she did not say anything. He guessed that she was used to it. It was either that or she was just pretending not to mind.

He shifted, hesitating, coughing once. Then he finally, finally opened his mouth, speaking in a small voice. "Am I? Stunning, I mean." He hurriedly added, "Just curious, you know. Nothing more." _It's not going to hurt anyone to know if she thinks I am, is it? Teasing isn't a one-way ticket._

The smile on her lips was brilliant. "You are, I assure you. You are."

0+0+0+0+0

_H-3 Before the World Peace Conference_

Athrun left his seat as two of his subordinates came to escort the suspected culprit of tapping back to his cell. They had spent five futile hours to dig for information from the culprit, a crooked-nose and square-jawed man, and Athrun began to feel very, very impatient.

"Don't force me to take a last resort," he hissed to the culprit as the man passed him.

"Fuck you, Coordinator-kisser," the crooked nose man spat, hatred burning in his eyes. He was handcuffed and his arms were seized by Athrun's subordinates, but Athrun knew that this man would be very happy to murder him even if he had to tear out his flesh bite by bite.

Athrun was no stranger to the mechanism of interrogation and its forceful-bordering-on-brutal-methods, and he did not object to using it right now. This man had the daring to infiltrate Cagalli's office by himself, and Athrun believed that the man would not cower in the front of potential death. He just knew it from the man's eyes. If he himself was in the man's position, he would not surrender before he reached his goal.

He knew it because they were all the same.

"Drown him in the pool, neck-depth, and don't feed him." This was serious and Cagalli would not be pleased, but he had no other choice. "Hypothermic or not, don't get him out until he agrees to cooperate," he eyed the crooked nose man, "with us Coordinator-kissers."

His men stared at him, partially shocked. "Sir, but it's against—" one of them tried to reason out.

"Do it. _Now_. I'll take the responsibility." It was the last thing he said before leaving the interrogation chamber.

He headed to the hotel where the delegation from Neo Eurasia was staying since he was asked to give one more security briefing to the delegation. Young had rescheduled his agenda to suit the request, and this was the reason he had to sit for two more boring hours in a closed room. Dmitrij Feyedorov sat on the front row, looking was calm as ever, but his smile reminded Athrun of the culprit's sickening smile at the interrogation. He forcibly maintained eye contact between them, but he preferred to look at the rest of the delegation and the black-suited bodyguards to look at Feyedorov himself.

"And that's all for the conference." He turned off the projector. "If you have any questions, I'll be glad to answer them." As he saw that no one in the delegation was going to ask, he knew that it was the end. "Thank you for your cooperation now and in the future."

Feyedorov approached him after the packed his equipment back into his case. Two bodyguards were standing close behind the prime minister. "Alex," he called. Athrun frowned; he did not remember being so close to Feyedorov that the prime minister could call him by his first name. "I'd like to have your company for tea this afternoon." He raised a hand when Athrun opened his mouth to answer, effectively stopping him. "And before you say 'With all respect, Your Excellency' and all, I want you to know that I insist, Alex. Let's just say it's my thank you." He smiled.

Athrun wondered whether politicians always had a way of making people listen to them, or it was just that Feyedorov was a master in the art of persuasion.

He went to the back veranda of the hotel forty minutes later. A security officer led him to the table where Feyedorov was sitting. If there was something that could surprise him regarding Feyedorov, it was finding him sitting with Lacus, having tea together.

"Ah, Alex. Please have a seat." Feyedorov smiled as he watched Athrun nod to Lacus. "I take it you already know Lacus-san?"

"Good evening, Your Excellency," he greeted Lacus. They had to pretend that they did not know each other very well, but Athrun wondered why she was here—and with Feyedorov, of all people.

"We're having a pleasant conversation, but it's nothing big enough to be put on newspaper headlines. Lacus-san here is as brilliant as her beauty," Feyedorov said.

Athrun's stomach twisted uneasily. _Go away, you flirt. She's taken._ "Yes, Your Excellency."

"Feyedorov will suffice, Alex. Or you can call me Dmitrij, if you prefer it more."

Lacus smiled at him. Her eyes were apologizing, silently asking him to bear this awkward tea time. "Mr. Dino, we're really thankful for your hard work," she said, trying to break the ice.

"You're welcome, Your Excellency." _For my sanity's sake, let this be over soon. It's dead awkward to talk to Lacus like that_. He hid a dejected groan. "Colonel Jule from the ZAFT National Guard has also been a really big hand, and of course I have to thank Mr. Feyedorov, too, for the cooperation of his officers."

"I said Feyedorov will suffice, Alex," Feyedorov said. "If you don't mind, please. I don't care if you're going to be stubborn and call Lacus-san with that tiresome 'Your Excellency' all the time, but with me, it's name basis. I wasn't jailed for a world where men aren't equal."

Lacus laughed softly. "That's Feyedorov-san for you, Mr. Dino."

"Oh, I just have a fetish of calling people by their names." Feyedorov joined her laughter.

Athrun's frown deepened. Somehow, something in Feyedorov's character rang a bell.

"Tea, Alex?" Feyedorov offered.

"Yes, please. Thank you."

"It's Russian tea. My favourite." The prime minister poured the tea into a cup. "You know, it's best to drink with apricot jam. The fragrance is wonderful so you won't be able to forget it. And the taste... Believe me; you'll prefer this more than brandy or scotch. Back when I was jailed, this tea was one of the things I missed the most." Smiling, he pushed the cup to Athrun. "Do you drink, Alex?"

"Occasionally," he answered honestly, avoiding Lacus' eyes. Now, she knew that he did not only drink an excessive amount of coffee daily, and soon there would be more who knew.

"I can understand that." Feyedorov sipped his own tea. "Drinking, I think, is just like committing suicide. An escape. The difference is that you don't die directly only because of drinking—or smoking."

"Not immediately," Lacus said.

Feyedorov chuckled. "True, Lacus-san. Some people say it's just like killing yourself. A silent, hidden killer is more dangerous than a blatant one, isn't it?"

It took Athrun's thoughts back to the situation with the pig-headed culprit. He did not enjoy this conversation, not at all. Feyedorov might be a very casual leader and a charming politician, but it did not mean he could just jump over the protocol. Even Cagalli, one of the most informal people he had ever known, would not do it. Politicians had to know the line between being polite and overfriendly. _Mannerism, Athrun,_ Cagalli once said, _sucks, but it's unavoidable._

"You know, sometimes I wonder why all guards have to wear black." Feyedorov put his cup back on the table. "It's not that I want to see them in multicoloured clothes—that'll make them look like silly clowns rather than guards. But black's intimidating. And frightening, even."

"I believe that's the purpose, Your Exc—Mr. Feyedorov," Athrun rejoined. "We don't want to scare people, but we need them to keep a distance." He knew that he sounded very calm, but he wondered if Lacus felt it as coldness. "We do not want the ones we guard to get into trouble."

"Because they're ranked VVIP?" Feyedorov inquired.

"Because they are our responsibility."

The tone, intensity and determination in Athrun's voice silenced both Feyedorov and Lacus. He did not understand why they looked so stunned; he was just being honest. He could not tell if Lacus was sympathetic or sad. He only knew that once again he had made a dear friend worried. _Or maybe it's genetically engineered into my blood,_ he thought. _After all, I am a horrible Coordinator-kisser._

He almost laughed at the absurdity that the only person he had ever kissed was not even a Coordinator.

0+0+0+0+0

He escorted Lacus back to her hotel room, three floors below Feyedorov's. For the sake of security and effectiveness, all delegations were to stay in a same hotel, and now he felt very thankful for the arrangement. It meant he did not have to bear more of Lacus's openly expressing her concern. Even more so, he felt like he did not deserved even a moment with her since his outburst against Kira.

Yzak was waiting in front of the lobby when he and Lacus exited the elevator. He and Lacus had a short talk concerning the agenda for tomorrow before Lacus bid the two of them goodnight.

"I'm going back to PLANT," Yzak told him when they were in the elevator. "I've just confirmed it to Lacus."

"You won't be here for the conference?"

Yzak frowned. "What do you mean? I'll only be at PLANT for the War Commemoration Day. I'll be here again tomorrow night."

It was a hard, painful slap for him. How could he forget? _If you weren't horrible before, you are now, Athrun Zala._ He knew that Yzak always attended the War Commemoration Day—a day held in PLANT in honour of the victims of the Two Wars—and brought flowers to the graves of their fallen comrades. _The graves may be empty, but I'll still honour those who died as real soldiers,_ Yzak once said, and until today he still preserved the principle.

Athrun swallowed. "...I see."

Yzak looked like he was waiting.

"Would you," he hesitated, not sure if Yzak would grant him this, "bring flowers to my mother's grave? Lilies. She loved them. And—" something got stuck in his throat, "and for Nicol, Miguel and Rusty, too. And for Heine." Now he remembered. "Heine Westenfluss. You may not know him; he's a comrade during the time I was in the Minerva." He paused. "Would you?"

Yzak was strangely quiet. "Just remember that I'm not doing it for you, Zala." Yzak could be as sarcastic as he wanted, but Athrun knew him. He looked uneasy when Athrun thanked him, but he did not say anything further, nevertheless.

As Athrun stared at Yzak's retreating car, he could not help but thinking of the people who had fallen and of his motherland. He would never meet those who had gone, and it had been so long since his last visit to PLANT. _Time sure is powerful, isn't it?_ he thought, feeling bitterness stake its ugly claim back in him.

He missed them all.

0+0+0+0+0


	8. Chapter 8: A Bullet and His Call

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: stone me not. I will not claim they're mine.

A lot of references to _The Edge_ in this chapter. _The Edge_ is one hell of _Destiny_ told from Athrun's POV, and I just so love Kuori Chimaki-sensei's artwork! Too bad I haven't read it to the last volume yet...

Proof-read and well criticised by dearest Fledgling, whom I owe _Being Athrun Zala_ to. Go kiss her!

FOR A FREE AND JUST MYANMAR.

0+0+0+0+0

**Chapter 8**

_H-3 Before the World Peace Conference_

Two hours after parting with Yzak, Athrun found Dietmar asleep on the sofa in the corridor heading to his room.

He frowned. He had told Dietmar that they would not have time to meet frequently this week. Ignoring the guilt that said that he was the one who had neglected Dietmar, Athrun wondered why nobody seemed to remember that Dietmar was not allowed to wait this late.

Athrun knelt beside Dietmar and gently prodded the boy's shoulder. "Hey there," he greeted softly.

The boy blinked sleepily, awakening. It took him a few moments to recognize Athrun. "—thrun?"

"Let's move to your room," Athrun said. "You'll get a cold and a stiff neck sleeping here."

Dietmar tried to rise, but he was too sleepy to walk on his own. Athrun gathered Dietmar into his arms, balancing the boy carefully. It was a bit difficult for Athrun to fit the boy into his arms, Dietmar being nine years-old, but he managed.

Dietmar buried his face into Athrun's shoulder and mumbled, "You're late."

"I'm sorry I couldn't get home earlier."

"Got an A today. Thought you'd be proud."

"Is that why you were waiting for me?" Walking quietly, One of Athrun's hands rubbed small circles on Dietmar's back. As Dietmar yawned onto his jacket, Athrun patted him on the head once. "Sleep? You still have school tomorrow."

"You'll stay?"

Athrun did not have the heart to refuse, but he did not want to promise something he could not fulfil. So he simply waited until Dietmar lost the battle to stay awake. Athrun's steps moved of their own accord and brought him to one of the balconies in the Athha Mansion. He opened the French doors and stood behind the rail. The air tonight was warm. It was fine to stay outside for a while.

He wondered if his father ever carried him and thought of the same things as he did now.

Remembering his childhood, Athrun recalled that his father had never been a welcome presence. He had thought that it was his mother's death that drove his father away from him, but thinking about it, he seemed to be mistaken. From the very beginning, Patrick Zala had rarely been seen with his son. He chose to reside in PLANT rather than on the Moon since Athrun was only a child, and even after Athrun moved to PLANT, the two of them had never been close. However, Athrun had always believed his mother's words that his father was working for the good of PLANT and that it was not like his father chose work over his family. (1) Although Patrick never came to school for parents' days, Athrun was still proud of him. He was a Zala also, and he vowed to never let his father down. He would make his father proud.

It was not until the Bloody Valentine incident that he viewed his father from different angle.

"Is that Dietmar?"

The voice made him turn around.

Meyrin was standing near the open doorway. She then walked closer to him. "He'd been waiting for you since he got home from school," she said, smiling.

"Why did you let him?" Athrun could not help the disappointment. Meyrin was a counsellor in Dietmar's school; she should have known better.

Meyrin shrugged. "I tried. Heck, almost everyone in this mansion tried. But you know how stubborn Dietmar is when it comes to you and you know him the best." She paused, looking mildly guilty. "I think he wants to show you this." She handed a piece of paper to him. "It's his writing from grammar class last week—the teacher's just returned it today. The topic is 'the people I love most,' if you want to know."

Then Athrun read. Dietmar's handwriting was a bit untidy, so he wondered what made Dietmar's teacher gave his boy 95—an A.

'_I live with Alex. I don't have parents because they die in war. Every year Alex brings me to my mother's grave. We pray for her and Alex brings white flowers. They are lilies. Alex says his mother likes lilies. I never meet Alex's mother. Alex says she is gone like my mother._

'_Alex and I have different last name. I think that's why Alex doesn't allow me to read some of his book. He says I'm not old enough to read them. I know he is lying because I know he reads them since he is little. Alex is tall but someday I will be taller than him. Alex has a cool car. He puts my duck in his car because he says it's my car too. Someday I will have that kind of car too and I'll beat him in race._

'_Alex's eyes are green. They are bright and kind. Alex is busy but he spends time with me. I like playing with him. Alex looks sad when he is alone. I think he is sad because he can't play with his parents. I don't like it when he is sad. I wish someday Alex will be the happiest person in the world because I'm happy when he's happy. Maybe someday he will even allow me to have the same last name.'_

It had been long since he last cried, but now his eyes felt hot. There was a strange feeling in his chest. His hand was shaking when he handed the paper back to Meyrin. He opened his mouth to say something, knowing that Meyrin was waiting, but he could not. Any words he might say seemed to get caught in his throat. Speechless, all he could do was averting his eyes from Meyrin's, Dietmar's hair tickling his chin and jaw.

Meyrin smiled knowingly. "You're welcome, Athrun-san." She started to leave, but she paused. "I'll take it you'll tuck him in to bed?"

He almost scowled. "Of course I will."

She laughed softly. "Well, then I'll leave you to your family bonding."

Athrun brought Dietmar to his room and tucked him in. Pulling the thick duvet up to Dietmar's neck, he lay beside Dietmar and gazed at his dear, adorable boy. Dearka once said that Athrun was not someone whom people would think fit the role of a father, and he had agreed. Yet here he was, playing father in Dietmar's life. Although he had grown very fond of the boy and his feelings were genuine, he did not think that he was a good father for Dietmar at all.

"If you know who I really am," he whispered, "you wouldn't want to have my last name." Dietmar shifted, snuggling more deeply into the comfort of sleep, which made Athrun smile, at least for the moment. "See you in the morning, buddy," he said, ruffling Dietmar's hair before leaving the room.

"Oh, there you are!"

He turned to find Lunamaria at the end of the corridor. "Lunamaria," he greeted his former subordinate, who seemed like she was relieved to find him. "I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here?" Lunamaria was Lacus's secretary, and with Lacus's busy schedule, it was not like Lunamaria had free time to laze around.

Lunamaria pouted a little. "It's called the sibling bond, you know. I'm just dropping by to see Meyrin. When I was here yesterday, I didn't get the chance to meet her."

Athrun had never understood the sentiment. He was an only child; he had never known what it was like to have a sibling. Sometimes, the dynamic between Kira and Cagalli even made him feel envious—and a little bit bitter, because no matter how close the three of them were, he was _not_ their brother. "Oh," he finally relented, not knowing anything else to say. "I see."

"Anyway," she said, "there's something you have to know."

Athrun knew immediately by the change in her tone and posture that what she was going to tell him had nothing to do with sibling bonding. Lunamaria's eyes were apologizing, and that, too, informed Athrun that this would not be a pleasant thing to hear. His time playing a loving father figure had abruptly come to an end.

0+0+0+0+0

Young stepped aside briskly as Athrun stormed into his office in the National Domestic Security Affair Office, already knowing not to test Athrun's temper right now. Behind Athrun, Lunamaria followed warily. Young offered her a thin comforting smile.

Young handed him a folder, but Athrun did not take it immediately. "Before you start asking where the hell that man is, here's a complaint from the Representative Council Office," Young said, noticing Athrun's distraught look. "Right now, Colonel Hathaway is waiting for you in the Head Representative's office, and Colonel Kisaka is also on his way there."

"The damn complaint can wait," Athrun cut in. "What did that man say?"

"Her Excellency called and—"

"_William Herbert Young_."

Young sighed, dejected. "He refuses to speak unless you're there. Mark-san's with him right now."

Athrun snatched the folder from Young's. His secretary only raised both hands shoulder-high, mouthing 'I'm innocent.' Athrun whirled around and hurried to get outside.

"Just try not to be cross with anybody, boss!" Young called before Athrun jabbed a number and the elevator door closed.

Lunamaria looked uneasy as the elevator descended. "Does he know?"

"What?"

"Your secretary. About you, I mean," she clarified.

"No."

"Oh."

The silence was awkward, but Athrun did not bother to make any decent conversation. She should not be surprised, anyway. After all, he had told Lunamaria once before that he was not the kind of person who was comfortable with socializing with people. (2)

"Well, I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I think it's better to handle things with a cool head," she said. "But then again, you're not always the best person to keep your anger in check, are you?"

"I'm not angry," he countered. "I'm just... impatient—maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Yeah." Sighing, he glanced at the folder in his hand, and he found no will in himself to open and read what was inside it. "Maybe."

Lunamaria tilted her head, as if searching for something. When she found it, she smiled. "You haven't changed much, Athrun."

He shrugged uncaringly. "So you say."

"You still put yourself at the end of argument even when you don't agree with something, and you prefer to keep silent rather than say a naked no." Lunamaria's smile widened. "I think it's what makes you, _you_."

He grumbled quietly under his breath, a bit embarrassed.

Lunamaria laughed a little. "No one has told you that before? Oh my. Well, now you know. Back when we were in the Minerva, you caught my interest. 'What kind of person is this Athrun Zala? Is he like Chairman Zala? Is he one of those pompous, holier-than-thou aces? Does he really live up to his legend?' Those were my thoughts at the time. But it turned out," she leant to rest her back against the elevator's cool wall, "you're nothing like that."

"That's why people say not to judge a book by its cover," he muttered.

"But," Lunamaria continued, "to be honest, I was glad that you're not like what I thought."

If there was anything like a bond between him and the Hawke sisters, it was their attraction towards him, in one sense or the other.

"You," Lunamaria began again, their eyes meeting, "are strong, brave and kind. Captain Talia said that, too. 'He's an honest person with an overflowing sense of justice,' she said. (3) But you're always so quiet and willing to be at the bottom end when an argument occurs."

"So you think it's better if we argue over such a trivial thing like whether there's a bond between siblings? Is that it?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "That's not it. I've told you; you're kind—maybe even too kind for your own good. Your compassion is what makes you willing to be on the losing side. It's fine with you because you don't want to see people sad or disappointed. While it may be one of your virtues, sometimes I can't stand it." This time, it was Lunamaria who looked away, staring at the ceiling. "At that time, I decided and promised to myself, 'This is the person I want to follow.'

"Lunamaria, it's not—" he began.

"And I know Shinn feels the same." There was an unfamiliar expression on her face. "He never says it, but I know. I _saw_ how he looked up and listened to you, though it wasn't that obvious. That time when your GOUF sank, he cried. I don't know what he'd thought exactly at that time, but I know he definitely didn't want to—uh—kill you." Lunamaria's eyes had never been as firm as they were now, as she fixed her eyes on his. "We promise ourselves that we will not let you fall, Athrun. At least not on your own. We will follow you."

"I—" he stopped. It was ridiculous. He had never thought that there were people who would follow him willingly. The idea simply sounded insane and unbelievable. _Who am I to be thought that high?_ he wondered. Yet again, there was always more to the depth of a human heart. Psychologists might be able to map the workings of the mind, but things were totally different when it came to the workings of the heart. And Athrun was a stranger to it.

Lunamaria's smile left him with no other response but acceptance. He was not so sure whether to say thank you or to tell her not to follow him instead.

"You seem to know a lot about me," he said, "even when I don't know myself."

"Oh, let's just say that I have a master degree in Athrun Zala Studies."

The corners of his mouth curled up in an amused smile, the first time in a while. "Only a master degree?"

"Well, someone else has already got a PhD on that, actually."

0+0+0+0+0

_H-2 Before the World Peace Conference_

It was one o'clock in the morning when Athrun finally received the chance to come face to face with his most hated foe nowadays, the crooked nose culprit. Shivering hard in his seat, teeth chattering madly, the man was bundled in a thick, warm blanket. Although Kira had given the man a cup of hot tea to warm himself, Athrun did not think the man deserved anything humane at all.

Athrun stood before the man, Kira beside him. He knew that he needed Kira's presence beside him or he might explode and kill the man. Quarrels aside, Kira was a friend who simply cared for his well being. The thought put Athrun on a lighter note, before moving to deal with another interrogation session. "You said you wanted to talk to me?"

The man glanced up, eyes burning with hatred.

"His name is Kaleeb Jay Nkono," Kira informed him. "He refuses to say anything else save for his name."

"Mr. Nkono," Athrun said, forcing himself to stomach the disgust born from merely saying the man's name. "I'm here now. Tell me what you want to tell me."

The man gave a short sneer. "Before I do that, I want a guarantee on my safety. I will not be extradited back to Neo Equator. I will not be tried in a military tribunal. And I will not be tried for anything other than bugging."

Kira had to restrain him with an arm as Athrun unthinkingly surged towards Nkono. Anger flared up inside Athrun, face turning red and veins popping out on his temple and cheeks. "How dare you?" he snarled.

"Considering what I offer you, my conditions aren't too much," Nkono said.

Athrun seethed, fists tightening on both of his sides. This Nkono sure knew a lot about the law of war. He knew that returning to Neo Equator was not an option; he might be punished by the Neo Equator government for trespassing in another sovereign country or even killed by his own group for passing on information. On the other hand, if he was going to be tried on a military tribunal, he was going to be treated under Orb's law—and Orb's law knew no death penalty.

They were not playing on an even ground.

Kira pulled him aside, safe from Nkono's ears. He looked equally disturbed, but he was not as enraged as Athrun. Athrun did not know how Kira was able to do it. "Will it be worth it?" Kira whispered.

"I don't know. I'm a soldier, not a student of law." Athrun fought the need to rub his temples. He was sure that he would have a giant headache after this. "I'll call for Will." His secretary held double degrees in law and history, after all. Athrun gave Young brief instructions by phone, and he returned to face Nkono after he was informed that Young had arrived and taken a seat behind the one-sided mirror in the interrogation chamber. He did not hang up his cell phone so that Young could hear the interrogation.

Kira put a hand on his shoulder. "I trust you know what you're doing, Alex."

"We're not on an even ground," he said. He would prove that Lunamaria was wrong. He would not let himself always be on the losing side of a fight. He would fight back and gain a victory, because he had a reason to do so. "But I'll make it even to that bastard there. I'll be damned if I don't."

He had promised Cagalli that he would not fail, after all.

0+0+0+0+0

Forty nine-year old Rene Hathaway was grave in his seat. He looked older, much older than he really was. Closing his eyes, he put the folder he had just read on his desk. Across his desk sat Alex Dino, the youngest of his five deputies. His right hand. His candidate for the future chairperson of this office. The man whose secret he had been keeping. All the years he had known Alex Dino—or rather, _Athrun Zala_, his deputy was never a disappointment.

Hathaway sighed. Athrun never disappointed him, and he would make sure it would not start today. He would. "Tell me you didn't do anything harmful to our rat." He was giving Athrun a chance. It was not fair, almost a cheat to Orb's law, but Hathaway could not help it. He just had to give Athrun a chance. He simply could not let the Head Representative put all the blame on his deputy's shoulders.

"If I could, I would. But that would be a lie."

Hathaway clasped his hands on his desk. "You don't want me to cover you." It was not a question.

"Yes." Athrun was equally grave. "I _did_ hit the man. Twice. And would have successfully thrown a chair at him, if only Mark and Will hadn't broken into the interrogation room.

"Alex, do you realize what you're saying? This is an insubordination."

"I'm fully aware that Orb's law forbids us, the servants of the nation, to harm our captives, and I'm fully aware that I'm not above the law. I know this." Athrun paused, his mind recalling the moments he loomed over Nkono, shaking with fury. Nkono recoiled away from him, afraid of his interrogator but still insisting on breaching the fear. He had realised that it was definitely a mistake to test his interrogator's patience, but it was too late. The hatred in his interrogator's eyes was a deep, personal one, and Athrun knew this because it was reflected in Nkono's eyes. "I'm not proud to say this, but if the law force me to chain myself, I will break free from it. If the law can't save people's lives, I will break it."

"So much for, I quote, being loyal to Cagalli Yula Athha."

It was almost a sneer, the first he had ever seen coming from Hathaway, but he did not answer.

"For Haumea's sake, Alex, those are big words you have there. What is this to you?"

"Justice."

Sighing once again, Hathaway leant back into his chair. "Justice," he repeated in a quiet murmur, eyeing Athrun's knuckles, bruised and blemished with dried blood. "It's a very slippery term, Alex, but it'll be nice if we could give justice to all mankind."

"Mankind is a more slippery term than justice, and my hands aren't big enough to embrace all of mankind," Athrun said. "So, I've decided to start from me. It's my justice."

Hathaway offered him a weak smile. "Stubborn, defiant, insufferable brat."

Athrun smiled in return, though his smile was thinner—and bitter. "Being a brat isn't so bad, after all."

"Oh, before you go," Hathaway stopped him as Athrun was dismissed and ready to take his leave, "Dmitrij Feyedorov asked me for your presence for tea this evening, saying 'black-suited guardian', or something like that. Seems like he's taken a liking towards you. Meet him before you go to the Head Representative."

Wondering what Feyedorov might want from him, Athrun closed the door behind him.

0+0+0+0+0

Feyedorov waved a hand at Athrun, smiling as widely as ever. "It's nice to have you again, Alex," he greeted. "I'm sorry for asking you to come so suddenly. Here." He handed Athrun a folder. "There's a map of the positions of the guards from Neo Eurasian for tomorrow. I believed your work will be easier if you know this, so I asked my head of staff to compile this for you."

"Thank you, Your Exc—sir." Athrun stood beside the prime minister. "But please pardon my rudeness, sir, I am on duty today, so I am afraid I cannot stay for too long."

"Oh, it's alright, perfectly alright. I'm also at fault for asking you to come here again for tea just because I read some interesting articles about you in _Extravaganza_." Winking, the prime minister offered him a seat. "No hard feelings, Alex. Even a politician sometimes needs to read that kind of stuff. I need to entertain myself, you know. Oh, and actually, I also invited Lacus-san, but it seems she's having a meeting with Cagalli-san right now."

Athrun's left cheek twitched at the easy and friendly tone that Feyedorov used when talking about Cagalli. "Her Excellency Head Representative has a good relationship with Ms. Clyne. The two have worked with joined hands even during and post-wars."

"Wars?" Feyedorov pushed a cup of tea towards Athrun. "Ah, yes. I kind of forgot that Lacus-san was also an active participant in the First War." His smiled turned a bit rueful. "Yet if I could, I'd rather have her staying out of post-war politics."

Athrun's hand paused from stirring his tea. He had never thought that a leader of a sovereign country would talk about another sovereign country's leader with a common official. _Who is Alex Dino_, Athrun thought, _in the politics world after all?_ He was far less significant compared to Lacus Clyne or Cagalli Yula Athha.

Feyedorov seemed to notice Athrun's hesitation. "It's alright, Alex. Badmouthing people isn't my style. It's just that I think Lacus-san is too innocent, too pure to drown herself in this shitty world of trickery called politics." Feyedorov grinned when Athrun looked unable to hold his surprise at his choice of words. "But it is, isn't it? You lie and cheat so you can rule. _Devide et impera_, remember?"

"You do not want Ms. Clyne to be exploited."

"I wish so." Feyedorov took a spoonful of apricot jam, adding it to his own tea and stirring it. "For both she and Cagalli-san. I wish the two of them and their strength will never be in anyone's shadow."

Athrun watched the way emotions flicker on Feyedorov's face. This man, too, was a politician, and politicians tended to be in another politician's shadow. Cagalli was in her father's, and Lacus was the same. Feyedorov did not seem to walk on anyone's shadow, but after all, Athrun did not know enough about him to tell. He wondered if it was that bad to walk on someone's shadow. _Lunamaria says she and Shinn have decided to follow me; doesn't that mean they walk on _my_ shadow? And I decided long ago to follow Cagalli, while she follows her father—or at least her father's ideals. Does that mean someone always has to have a person to follow? Does that mean one cannot live if one lives for oneself?_

He did not know. He did not want to think about it.

"You seem to dislike politics, sir. That's... unusual for a politician."

"I don't dislike politics," Feyedorov corrected cleverly. "Politics is all around us, Alex. It's powerful and benefits a lot of people, if executed properly. It's just that I tend to not like politicians very much—including myself."

Athrun let out a short, soft laugh. "May I remind you, sir, honesty is a double-edged sword."

Feyedorov laughed, too. "Aren't people like that, Alex? Sometimes they hate themselves just for being who they are."

Beneath the table, Athrun's fists tightened.

Feyedorov's smile was wistful. "Though, in fact, nobody wants to be hated. I definitely don't want to be hated. I don't want people to scorn at me, naming me 'Dmitrij Feyedorov the PLANT hater' or 'That greedy bastard who wants to totally reform the Earth Federation.' No. I'm not like that. And I don't want to hate either. But you have to understand what history has taught us. ZAFT and the Earth Alliance's military are two of a kind. A junta isn't democratic, and when it loses its little sense of democracy, it will become a monster."

"I don't think PLANT will ever be a junta," Athrun said swiftly.

"Oh, I hope not. Yet ZAFT has always been more powerful than PLANT's civil government, and we have to admit that ZAFT tends to butt in on practical politics."

"Do you distrust ZAFT that much?"

"In politics, you trust no one. That's just the way it is, Alex. The military should stay in the barrack. Their field is in wars, not in practical politics. I don't distrust only ZAFT in particular; I'm attentive toward each and every military movement in the world. The Earth Federation's military is just the same—though I have to admit that they're less affable than ZAFT."

"Why?"

Feyedorov took a long moment to answer. Athrun was cautious that he had crossed the friendly line.

"Because they don't do justice to my people," Feyedorov said quietly. He downed a full cup before he finally spoke again. "Back when JOSH-A was left as bait to lure ZAFT soldiers to their doom, those who were left behind, completely unaware of the sick plan, were Eurasian soldiers. The Earth Alliance ruled many of our cities with iron fist. All were browbeaten. We all suffered from the oppression. I just couldn't accept it. We're a part of the Earth Alliance; even though we weren't the leader of the Earth Alliance, our people must be treated as equal. Thanks to the Second War and the collapse of Logos, the Eurasian Federation finally had a chance to succeed the Atlantic Federation as the leader of the Earth Alliance. I took the chance, and here I am."

"So can I take it that you agree that without power, virtues mean nothing?"

"Virtues? Well, it's not really my place to judge the rightness or wrongness of things, Alex." Feyedorov shook his head quietly. "Politics is about doing practical things. In practical politics, idealism is a guide; it's not a course of action and it's _never_ a doing." He paused, playing with his teaspoon, eyes on his cup. "But—well—I do admit it's kind of sad when you find you're too powerless the time you want so badly to do things right."

Feyedorov had really hit home this time, and Athrun's fists were white-knuckled now.

"Maybe all you want is to do things right, but you end up doing things wrong. Or maybe it's the other way around. Any ways, saying that we can only judge our actions by our original intention is too idealistic. I would be happy to kick a person like that in the ass and say, 'Get real, why don't you?' So, Alex, my answer to your question is no. Power respects power (4); that's why power is necessary."

"Even if the ones in power are Coordinators?"

Feyedorov was staring keenly at him. "As long as they're on my side, I won't care whether they're Coordinators or Naturals."

"And those who aren't on your side are your enemies?"

The prime minister sighed. "I would be sad if the world is reduced and polarized to two poles again. However, people aren't immune to change, and people do change sides. For example, South America traded with PLANT in the First War, but they joined the Earth Alliance voluntarily in the Second War. The Eurasian Federation advocated the importance of maintaining a good relationship with PLANT, but we couldn't hold our views when we're so bent by the Earth Alliance to fight ZAFT—and I'm not happy with the fact that we did. Why did we have to send Coordinators to their deaths like Hitler sent the Jews to the pogroms? Why did we have to exterminate people just because they're different from us? I asked my people and myself a lot about that—and I still do. And I still haven't found the answer. I guess it's not the first time you hear this, but let me remind you again: as pitiful as it is, in politics, there is no eternal friend or foe. All we have is eternal need, driven by all our doctrines, our isms."

"Pitiful," Athrun repeated, but he was not eager to reveal precisely whom it was directed to.

"Yes. Pitiful," Feyedorov echoed glumly. "Yet it is _the_ ism of the world." (5)

0+0+0+0+0

Cagalli did not even bother to make a proper greeting for the sake of courtesy as Athrun entered her office. She did not have to tell Athrun anything; her eyes had done the talking. Prepared, Athrun took a seat across from her.

"I have to admit that this report disappointed me."

Athrun eyed the folder before her. It was the same folder that Hathaway read. _So be it_, he thought. He had refused Hathaway's offer; now he had to face this on his own.

"Did you take so little notice of Orb's law?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because I had to."

"Had to what? Take a captive of a culprit, drown him and then torture him? To hell with getting information, Athrun!" Cagalli slammed the folder onto her desk. "Amnesty International may remand you to a trial for this, you know, and ZAFT will be very happy to have your head if they find out who you are. And this is the second time, Athrun. But this time, it's not only an insubordination to my administration; it's also a violation to international and Orb's law."

"I definitely didn't do it with a big smile on my face." Years ago, he had said a similar thing to Yzak (6), and Yzak had been stunned. Now, it still stung to throw well-aimed sarcasm at a friend and his throat hurt, but he could not help it. In spite of everything, Cagalli did not see or hear anything that happened in the interrogation chamber.

"_We will kill Cagalli Yula Athha, traitor to our blue and normal world. She's a part of this world, the world of Naturals, but she sides with Coordinators. She doesn't see reason at all and blinds the world with her weak, sugar-coated ideals. But we will make the world come around to the truth. We will make the people see reason. After we finish with Cagalli Yula Athha, other traitors will follow. And after that... the Coordinators."_

She did not know anything about Nkono's vicious words or the pure hatred burning in his eyes as he spoke, and Athrun did not intend to let her find out. It was for the best.

"I'm prepared for that. If Amnesty International wants, they can try me," Athrun said. It was his fight, his responsibility, his debt to the world. It was his alone. His life did not matter, but Cagalli's did. "Or they can even have my head."

A loud, resounding noise reverberated in the room as Cagalli's open palm met his cheek.

Silence.

His head swung to one side from the force. His flesh flared with pain, but he knew that he deserved it. Nobody dared to make the first move and break the deafening stillness. Her hand trembled slightly as she lowered and clenched it. Gradually, Athrun straightened his stance, being a subordinate before a top executive. He was not so sure anymore where Cagalli Yula Athha ended and the Head Representative began. Or, rather, where Athrun Zala ended and Alex Dino, the total and utter idiot, began. It was just too bad that while Cagalli was used to being violent, he was used to pain.

"If you're looking for someone who thinks that your words are enlightening, you won't find her here," Cagalli hissed coldly, anger and disappointment making her voice sound distant and unfamiliar. "_I_ don't want that from you."

And the distance between them grew far, far more apart than ever.

0+0+0+0+0

In the elevator, Athrun leaned against the cold wall and took a deep, shaky breath. His cheek still sang with pain, but something deeper stung even more. It wounded. It broke. It hurt. It hurt to know that Cagalli left like that, and it hurt even more to know that he deserved it, that he had disappointed her. Swallowing his frustration, Athrun almost choked on his breath.

Kira was waiting for him on the lobby of Cagalli's office. Kira's eyes immediately darted to Athrun's cheek, still red and raw. He opened his mouth to speak, but Athrun raised a hand to stop him.

"No, don't say anything. It's nothing, Kira. I deserved it," he said in the car, one hand rising to touch his cheek. He could feel Kira's eyes on him, watching him carefully. Athrun knew him; Kira would worry and it was the last thing he wanted from his best friend now. _Hell, he's here because he's already worried about you—since you almost strangled Nkono bare-handed_, he reprimanded himself.

Kira averted his eyes to the road ahead. He was the one driving, because Athrun was too distracted to drive himself. Kira somehow knew about the situation, but he respected his friend's need for privacy, and Athrun was grateful for that. "Yzak called," Kira began. "He said that the original plan of the group in Neo Equator is to create a chaos yet again by arousing suspicion. That's why the World Peace Conference is the target. That's why they're moving at a time like this."

Athrun closed his eyes. _But of course_, he thought. _What—who—else could be their target?_

"Take a nap, Athrun," Kira said gently. "There's still a lot of work, so you'd better rest. Dietmar asked me to tell you that."

"He did?" He tried to smile, but he could not. "Guess I have to thank him properly for that."

"Athrun, do you—" Kira hesitated for a while, then, "I've been thinking about this—I mean, have you ever thought of getting Dietmar a steady family?"

He tensed up. "Dietmar's my responsibility, and it'll stay like that."

"But—you know—every child needs a mother."

Athrun could guess where this talk would lead to. This was Kira, after all, and just like Kira knew him well, he knew Kira, too. "He can have any mother he wants, but I'm not into marriage."

"You're not the type to settle down?"

"Not now." He looked away. "Not now, Kira."

"What does 'not now' refer to? This talk or—"

"Kira," he cut jadedly, "_please_?"

The car sped up as it left the capital and ran on in the direction of the Athha Mansion. The road blurred. Morning would come soon. Finally, it was the day before the World Peace Conference, the time for the final curtain to be raised. Athrun wished the stage would be clear of tragedy or tears. He really, really wished.

"...Are you angry?"

He did not want to deal with Kira's inquisitiveness right now, so he answered that no, he was not angry and that no, Cagalli was not at fault. Kira was forced to buy his account, but Athrun realised that his best friend knew better. He was only glad that Kira did not pry deeper. _I'm not lying_, he thought. _I'm not angry at anyone, not even at Cagalli, so there's no need to forgive anyone._

He did not tell Kira that he was too numb to admit that he was angry at himself.

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_The World Peace Conference_

_The Emirate of Orb, CE 78_

It ran well. All was running smoothly. There was only one minor interruption as the original drum player for the band, who was supposed to play during the ball, was substituted. Yzak had complained about the amount of journalists—'scumbag slaves of the media'—in the press room, but Kira was more than apt enough to handle it. The first day of the Conference would end with the ball, and Athrun could at least breathe a bit more freely after it, before the second day began.

Lacus had entered the ballroom with such grace that Athrun could not help winking at Kira. Behind her, Shinn walked guardedly, aware of his surroundings. "Your lady is as striking as ever," he whispered to his best friend beside him, not wanting to pick up attention from the other staff in the control room.

"Shut up," Kira muttered, fighting the blush that was threatening to colour his cheeks. "She's not only mine; she belongs to the world, too."

Athrun was silenced. _Belongs to the world, eh?_ he thought, belatedly admitting that politicians, no matter how poor or well they performed, always belonged to the world, as much as they belonged to their people.

The screen showed that Yzak was standing not too far from Lacus. That reminded Athrun of something. Shinn had told him that Yzak would soon be promoted to the general rank. His former comrade would soon be named Brigadier General Jule, a man with one star on his shoulder. It was an outstanding achievement for someone who was only twenty four-year old, but Athrun knew that Yzak deserved it. _He has to go to the top. He's the only one I can trust to take care of ZAFT_, he thought, _so that PLANT won't become a junta, like Feyedorov thinks._

"Sir, we'll need you for the final check before the commencement of the ball," one of his subordinates talked to his communicator.

"I'll be right there."

Kira watched as Athrun put on his tuxedo. As usual, Mark Siegfried would handle the work in the control room while Alex Dino would dirty his hands with field work. Kira once told Athrun that as a deputy, he did not really have to do it himself, but Athrun insisted. Kira knew that Athrun once spent three days without sleep after an unsuccessful assassination attempt on Cagalli. _Rather than being a slave driver to your subordinates, you're a slave driver to yourself,_ Kira once commented. _Elaine and Dietmar won't be happy if you're too exhausted to play with them, you know_.

Kira tugged at his sleeve as Athrun turned to leave. "Things will be all right."

Athrun straightened the collar of his shirt. He did not want to ask whether Kira meant it as a reassurance or a question. "I hope so." Then he left.

The ball took place in the hall of the Royal Palace. Some of Athrun's subordinates were already present to check on everything to make sure the ball would run smoothly. The players of the band were doing a sound-check in the corner. They all seemed to have their minds set on the ball. How well today's agenda was executed would decide the running of the whole conference, after all. Athrun almost, almost smiled as he remembered Cagalli's first dance lesson. At that time, even he would not have thought that the awkward learner would become the fine dancer she was today. _All eyes will be on this ball_, he thought. _Ah well. Politics._

Feyedorov and, much to Athrun's surprise, Cagalli were coming to the hall. _Only with a guard_, he cursed, irritated. Cagalli only had a guard with her, the young man who went with her on her visit to Dietmar's school, whose name Athrun did not remember. Feyedorov did not have any guard at all. _Damn it. What the hell are they thinking?_

He came forward to meet them. "Your Excellency," he greeted Cagalli, a bit stiff. "The preparation for the ball will be finished in ten minutes. Would you like to see it yourself?"

"No, it's all right. You and your men are working very well. I trust and thank you all," she replied, looking around, and Athrun noticed that she avoided making an eye contact with him.

Feyedorov patted him gently on the arm. "You really look good in a tux, Alex. Now I finally believe _Extravaganza_ didn't tell any lies about you being 'the man most worth the chase.'

Athrun forced out a timid laugh.

"You'll be at the ball, too?" Cagalli asked.

"I will be here on duty, Your Excellency."

All so sudden, there was a scream; a furious and loathsome shout. It cried only one word:

"TRAITOR!"

It happened in a flash, but to him it was one of the longest, most horrible moments Athrun had ever experienced. He turned to see a man, the substitute drum player, aiming a black revolver at Cagalli. He saw the man's face, contorted in sick pleasure and false belief. He saw how Cagalli's eyes widened as she saw him jump before her and the revolver. He reached for his own handgun under his tuxedo and aimed at the drum player. He shot several times, but he was not so sure if they made a hit. He only hoped that at least one of his bullets did not miss its target.

Then there was recognizable pain, a searing, blaring, intense pain all over his body. Then there was a lot of shouting everywhere, shouts of fear and bewilderment.

Then there was blood.

He had imagined his fall numerous times, being a soldier at the end of an enemy's gun, but this was not how he imagined his fall would be.

Cagalli caught him before he hit the floor. Sickening, brilliant red blood splattered everywhere, some even landing on her dress. Panic. Chaos. Confusion. One of his subordinates shouted an order to his other subordinates to secure the place and get the situation under control. It was a chaotic mess, and worse, the press would shortly know this mess.

Feyedorov had taken off his own tuxedo, folding and placing it beneath Athrun's head. He crouched beside Athrun and tried to open Athrun's shirt. The red on Athrun's shirt made him scrunch his face, nauseous, but he forced himself to stay still. Cagalli had already stained her hands with blood.

_It doesn't fit you_, he thought. _The blood doesn't fit you at all, Cagalli._

Athrun wanted very much to double over, but the pain was too unbearable for him even to curl up. He just wanted to sleep and rest. He really wanted to.

"Don't pass out!" Cagalli cried out shakily, tears already pooling in her eyes. It was ridiculous to ask him to come round when he was severely wounded, but she was in a panic. He could not help being amused by her antics, even though his very life was at stake now. "Stay with me, or I'll never forgive you!" She tried desperately to keep him awake, but he was too weak and too tired.

He wanted to reply, but a harsh cough racketed through his body as he opened his mouth. Blood trickled onto his chin. He saw Feyedorov, he saw Kira running hurriedly to get him, he saw Cagalli's tear-stained face, but they were all an indistinguishable blur to him. He was losing consciousness rapidly, he knew. He felt cold; he _was_ cold.

_Go_, he wanted to say but only able to mouth it to Cagalli. _I don't want you to stay exposed to danger_.

The three of them, Kira, Cagalli and Feyedorov, were kneeling in the pool of his blood. "Don't you dare die on me," Feyedorov hissed in a low voice, half angry and half afraid. He slapped Athrun twice to keep him awake, but it took only a moment before his own guards took him to safety.

From the corner of his eye, he saw another body beside him, a pair of lifeless eyes wide open and a young face stained with blood. He remembered now; the man's name was Fajjra. _A casualty_, he thought. _Like me_. He saw Kira took Cagalli away forcefully. _Good_, he thought. She needed to be in a safer place; Kira had understood it well. It did not matter that Cagalli was screaming, seeming to want to stay, so that Kira had to drag her behind him.

Athrun coughed, the red, hot, burning pain almost enveloping him completely. He knew that he was dying, definitely dying, and it seemed that he made Cagalli cry once again. He was so low.

_I don't want you to see me like this._

The last thought he had before he succumbed into the darkness was that maybe Cagalli would forgive him now that he died defending her.

0+0+0+0+0

Notes:

(1) from _The Edge_ Volume 3, the scene where Athrun dreams of his father.

(2) from the _Destiny_ episode where Lunamaria congratulates Athrun for being able to handle Shinn, but Athrun seems likely to defend Shinn, saying that Shinn is just awkward in socializing with people—like he himself.

(3) from the _Destiny_ episode after Athrun met Cagalli, Kira and Miriallia are spied by Lunamaria. When she reports to Talia, she asks Talia whether Athrun is trustable.

(4) "Power respects power" from Indian much loved former president, Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam, also known as the Missile Man of India.

(5) from the title of Ruth McVey's article I got in one of my reading classes, 'Racism is the ism of the world.'

(6) from _SEED_ Phase 11, where Yzak and Athrun had their daily dose of quarrel. I altered a bit of Athrun's speech.

The idea of using McVey's article just popped up from nowhere. Somehow, there is always a seed of racism inside each and every one of us. The CE universe shoulders a heavy burden of racism (or, for lack of better word, gene-ism, because it's not exactly about race; it's about gene), and I believe none of us will be very happy to have that kind of world in the future. While the politics is messed up, the environment is already more messed up. I think that's why people like Athrun and Cagalli, also with the historical burden they both inherit, have to struggle the most if they want to be together, even to the point of denying themselves. Oh well, more about that in the following chapters (because I'm evil ;D).


	9. Chapter 9: A Series of Dreams

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: duh, must we go all over this again? Alright. Not mine.

Notes: this _is_ a booooring chapter, I warn you, because this chapter elaborates all hints on previous chapters. Maybe you'd want to reread them, hm?

This is for Fledgling, as always, because there's no _Being Athrun Zala_ without her. It's as simple as that.

And for you readers who bothered to leave a review for Chapter 8. I'm so amazed that it got a lot of interesting, wonderful and worth-treasured reviews despite my untimely cliffhanger and messy writing. I was so overjoyed that I read and reread your reviews one by one, but hey! There's no better ego booster than an honest review, right? Oh well... mind me not.

Tons of kisses and hugs to you all!

And a bit more to go down, hm?

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**Chapter 9**

Someone was watching him.

For the first time since the numbness and black-outs, Athrun could _feel_. Amidst the darkness, he tried to move but found himself denied of the power. No matter how hard he tried, he could not open his eyes to blink—_blink, you slothful bastards!_ he cried at them—or move even the tip of a finger, but at least he could hear. He could hear the shifting of fabric and screeching of a chair beside him. That was how he knew that someone was watching him.

"His eyes flicker."

He stiffened—in sense only, because his body still showed nothing. That voice. He knew that voice, and he had desperately wished it to be the first voice he heard when he came to consciousness again. _Seems that luck is on my side this time_, he thought, humouring himself. He did not die—_I really didn't die!_—having survived the brutal blow. And now this voice was beside him.

He remembered now. His last memories were someway disarrayed, but he could recognize some of them. There was a man with a black revolver. The man's aim was terrible, but despite that, his bullets were fatal. He remembered taking his own gun and shooting. A guard fell, and Athrun saw the guard's wide, lifeless eyes beside him. The murderer fell, too. There was a lot of screaming. A lot of sharp pain. And then he fell and swayed between consciousness and eternal sleep. He felt cold. He felt numb.

And that voice was calling him.

_I didn't die_, he thought. _I'm alive._

"It happens a lot, actually." Another familiar voice. "It's been five days after the shooting, and sometimes I've found a movement under his eyelids, his eyelashes fluttering or brows furrowing, or something like it. But that doesn't mean he's awake."

A long pause.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here earlier."

"I know. I understand. Your Excellency has duty." There was thick, not-so-well concealed anger and disappointment in the second voice that Athrun could not help noticing. "The doctor said it's a plain miracle that he's hold on so far. With that hypovolemic shock, that is."

"Kira, please."

A sigh. "I'm just—you know—afraid he's not going to make it—I don't—he's too—"

"Brother."

Cagalli never, ever called Kira with his familial title, not even when her life depended on it. In her voice was a desperate need for strength, a need to cling onto something, _anything_—and nothing was better than a comfort from one's family. There were broken, strangled sobs muffled against fabric, and a shifting of clothing. His best friend whispered comforting words, also muffled, but Athrun was not sure if those were meant for Cagalli or Kira himself. Athrun wondered if two broken people could really comfort each other. _How can one blind person_, he thought, _lead another blind person?_

It was not comfort, he realized then. It was sharing. Sadness could not be left behind and forgotten, but it could be shared. Sharing was the very least thing humans could do to deal with sadness.

_But I'm not dead! _he tried to shout, frustrated. _There's nothing to be sad about! I'm alive! Can't you see? Look at me!_

The struggle was in vain, he knew. His body would just not listen to his mind—_damn Plato and his theory of the separate world of mind and body!_ It simply would not move, as if his mind and body were two autonomous, detached entities. Indeed, his body demanded that he go back to the darkness. _I don't want to rest, damn it! I want to wake up!_ But his body insisted still, and he was in no form to deny the much more powerful demand.

So Athrun helplessly gave in again to the darkness.

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He was dreaming.

Or rather, he was seeing a series of memories in a series of dreams.

He always knew, when he had a dream or when he saw himself in a dream that he was dreaming—as if he was an omniscient spectator in his dream. He knew that it was strange—_I can be a perfect guinea pig for Jung_, but he simply knew.

_His grandfather, Athrun Dan Zala, put a hand on his head. His big, warm hand lingered there. It was a strong hand of strong person. Athrun wanted to be strong like his grandfather even though the old man was lying on his deathbed._

"_I'm leaving the family and this nation into your hands, Patrick. I trust you," his grandfather said, eyeing his only son, Athrun's father. His eyes shifted to his daughter-in-law. "Thank you for everything, Lenore." At last he came to his grandson, Athrun. "Grow up and be a great man, Athrun." His grandfather's hand lowered itself to Athrun's shoulder, clasping it gently but firmly. "Promise me."_

_He nodded. He would. They shared the same name; he would not taint the name. "I promise, Grandpa." But he was not sad. His mother had said that his grandfather would go to a better place._

_His grandfather closed his eyes, a content expression on his weary, wrinkled face, and Athrun wondered what 'better place' his grandfather was going to._

_Patrick officially became the head of the House of Zala the night after Athrun Dan's death. The Zalas were a prominent and respected family in PLANT, and Patrick would make sure that Athrun Dan's death would not stumble its reputation. That same night, Athrun was told that he would have a fiancée. _This family must not crumble_, Patrick said, _just like the Coordinators must not vanish.

_The family buried his grandfather in the next morning, and it was a beautiful, stately burial. Being a former ZAFT general and Head Representative of the Supreme Council of PLANT, salvos were shot for Athrun Dan. Athrun stood near Patrick and Lenore, not understanding the whole ordeal but wanting to be there for his beloved grandfather. White was everywhere, despite the black-suited attendees. Athrun saw a white coffin, buckets of white flowers and his dead grandfather's white face._

_At that time, Athrun thought that a good death was a white death, and he thought of his grandfather's resting place as a completely white, pristine place. Yet, as he grew up and the war forced him to open his eyes to see the truth, Athrun could not help but wondering if an artificial human with artificial genes and an artificial physique would have an artificial heaven for an afterlife._

0+0+0+0+0

_To be honest, it was a rather odd family gathering. Patrick's face was on the screen. Athrun was waiting. Lenore stood behind him, smiling at her husband with her hands on Athrun's shoulders._

_Patrick coughed once, his eyes on a book on Athrun's lap. "You've got the packet, I see."_

"_Yes," Athrun said. "Thank you, Father."_

"_It's nothing." Patrick moved like he was going to look away. "Considering I can't be there for your birthday, it's nothing." He paused. "Do you like it?"_

"_Yes."_

"_He's been reading the book since yesterday," Lenore piped up. At Athrun's blush and Patrick's surprised expression, she laughed softly. "I think 'like' will be the understatement of the year. And stop that, Patrick. There's no need to hide your laugh from Athrun."_

"_Mother!" Athrun was blushing redder._

"_Lenore," Patrick chastised gently, but even he could not hide the upturned curl of his lips. He coughed again, more lightly. "I'll try to be home next week. The Supreme Council's schedule won't be too busy then." He reached over, seeming to turn off the call. "I'll call again."_

_The screen went off. Lenore squeezed Athrun's shoulders lightly, and he turned to look at her._

"_You're right, Mother," he mumbled, still looking a bit dazzled. "Father didn't forget my birthday."_

"_But of course." She pulled him gently to his feet. "Your father loves you; don't ever doubt that. He's just too serious to show it."_

_Athrun clutched his book tighter to his chest. It was rather unusual to give a book about building mechanical kits—titled _Make Your Own Toy: An Easy Way to Learn Manual Robotic and Computer Programming_—as a birthday gift for a boy who was only seven, but to Athrun, it was the best birthday gift he had ever gotten. His father must have had remembered his flying grade in Engineering Class last semester._

"_Athrun," Lenore called gently, kneeling before her son, "I think your father already knows of what you think." At the horror in Athrun's face, she quickly said, "I mean, he has his own regrets for having to work in PLANT while we're here on the Moon. But you understand, don't you? Your father works for the good of PLANT, of us Coordinators. We can't be selfish; our people need your father, too." She grabbed his hands, squeezing tenderly to calm him. "Besides, there's always a moment like this for the two of you, hm?"_

_His mother always had a way of putting sense into him. There was no way Athrun would not have faith in her. Patrick had never been close to him—and Athrun felt that he would never be, but if his mother said that the distance between them was _not_ because his father wanted it, he would believe her._

_Lenore affectionately took his hand. "Anyway, the watermelons in the garden are ready to be picked. Mind giving me a hand?" She faked a frown, putting her best thinking-hard face. "And we won't share them with your father. Do we have a deal?"_

"_Mother, I thought you just said we can't be selfish."_

"_Oh, this isn't selfishness. This is revenge to him for not being home for your birthday."_

"_Mother..."_

"_Ah! A smile finally! Let's go to our watermelons now, shall we?"_

_With gentle, warm laughter ringing in his ears, Athrun never would have thought that his family would crumble into ruin._

0+0+0+0+0

_Their mothers were friends, and he was closer to Kira than to any of his classmates. Being the quiet boy he always was, Athrun was balanced by Kira's loud and carefree nature. Kira was his first best friend, and they did everything together. They even got detention together for getting caught fighting. Lenore and Caridad were not too pleased, but they understood their sons. After all, the two boys did not start the fighting; they were trying to help one of Kira's classmates from a group of bullies._

"_She's pretty," Athrun said a week after their three-day detention. "You like her?"_

_Kira flushed. "A little." Grinning, the happy-go-lucky boy pointed at his own chest with a thumb. "You know, I think she likes me, too. After all, what girl won't fall for her hero?"_

_Athrun elbowed him on the arm. "Next time, be the knight in shining armour on your own. She'll be confused if there are two knights, you know. And no, I don't like her—I didn't even know her name until the fight—so don't glare at me like that. I'm not going to take her from you." That reminded Athrun of something. He took a small box out of his bag. "Here."_

"_You... remembered?" Kira's eyes were wide. Athrun had been right in thinking that Kira would fall for the robotic toy—and fall hard he did. Last week, Kira had mentioned his dream of building a robotic bird that could fly and chirp. It was spoken in casual chatter, but Athrun remembered. "For me?"_

_He laughed at that. "I'm only lending it to you. Take a good care of it. I'll take it back someday."_

_Kira's face fell a little, but he recovered quickly. He knew that Athrun was only teasing. "Uh—and the name?"_

"_You pick one."_

"_Oh. Alright then." Kira scrunched up his face, appearing to be thinking hard. A while later he said, "Torii."_

_Athrun raised his eyebrows. "What a birdy name for a bird robot."_

"_Well, it _is_ a bird, isn't it?"_

_His first robotic creation did not last long. Two weeks after he gave Torii to Kira, he found himself defending Kira from the same group of bullies. Falling to the ground on top of his bag, Kira accidentally smashed Torii, both of its wings breaking with a rather loud crack despite its size. And with that Torii the First died._

_Athrun would be a horrible person if he did not try to cheer Kira up. "You're not going to cry, are you? It's just a toy, Kira. It's not that important."_

"_It _is_ important!" Kira bellowed, his eyes already watering. "You made it for me; that's why it's important!"_

_He ended up making Kira another Torii, which became his first successfully long-lasting creation. If it had not been for Torii the Second, he might not have been so sure that it was Kira who he fought against once the war came._

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"_This is my daughter, Lacus."_

_Athrun really liked Siegel Clyne, even though in some ways, the man's ideas differed from his father's. Siegel's daughter was his fiancée. She was gentle, well-mannered and beautiful. Athrun did not mind getting to know her better, even though Patrick thought of it as a purely political engagement. Still, Athrun showed her respect and courtesy, for it was a part of being Patrick Zala's son._

_Lacus smiled at him and bowed a little. "Pleased to meet you," she said. Her voice was smooth and melodious; Athrun would never get bored of hearing it._

_Siegel left the two of them alone. Athrun did not know what to say; he did not know how to dissolve the awkwardness between them._

"_Lacus-san, I—"_

"_Please call me Lacus," she cut him off, still very politely, "Athrun-san."_

_Athrun. She did not call him Zala-kun or Zala-san like others did._

_She seemed to realize his thoughts. "Oh, I'm sorry! I took the liberty to call you by your first name. I just thought it would be confusing if I called both you and your father 'Zala-san.'_

"_N-no, it's fine," he stuttered. "Actually, I'm rather... happy about it. Please, Athrun is fine."_

_Lacus's eyes brightened. "Athrun, then."_

_Even if he could not love Lacus in the way his father wanted him to, he would love her simply for being one of the few people who recognized him as him, free from his father's shadow._

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Mother, don't go.

_Curled up in his bed, he did not want care about time in its days, hours, minutes or seconds. He did not want to care about anything. He wanted to believe that the Bloody Valentine never happened, that thousands lives were never lost. The television had never been turned off since Athrun found out about the extermination, and Athrun felt no interest in leaving his bed, his temporary haven._

_Patrick had called yet, but it was alright. He must have had a lot to deal with at the moment; his mother had said that Patrick was working for the good of PLANT. But so had those who had been on Junius Seven, cultivating crops for the Coordinators. So had been those who lost their lives to the nuclear-induced death without knowing why._

Mother, don't go.

Lacus called. She cried the tears that Athrun was too numb to shed. Siegel called, too, passing on his deepest condolences. Athrun did not want their sympathy. He did not need sympathy. And neither did those who had been on Junius Seven. What they needed was justice, declared the Supreme Council. Thus began the execution of a plan by means of the Coordinators' well-developed technology; a means of forced retreat for the Naturals. It was decided that Earth would be showered with Neutron Jammer Canceller. But it would only be the first step to justice, the Supreme Council said. It was not a consequence powerful enough to pay back the Naturals for all the lives that had been lost.

_People shouted "Death to the Natural bastards!" on streets. Cities and towns everywhere were enraged. Earth itself was split into two contrast factions. A leader from an Earth nation called Orb, Uzumi Nara Athha, campaigned for a sound amity. It was impossible, Athrun thought. There would be no peace without justice. There was no lesson without pain. The other faction was too mulish, too stubborn to hand in the exterminators, who were only called slaughterers. In fact, it even praised them for wiping out the Coordinators, the errors of the universe._

_PLANT became a culture that glorified death, while Earth became horrified of a much more advanced existence than itself. It was the daybreak of what would soon become a full-scale war, a world war. Youths were sent to battle—some returned, some did not. The conflict was seen as between _Homo superiors_ and _Homo inferiors_, though the truth was that both sides were the same species of _Homo sapiens_._

Mother, don't go.

_He did not hate the Naturals. Or so he believed. He only wanted Justice, with a capital J, and his resulting decision was his first step. After all, he had promised his grandfather to be a great man, and his mother would be disappointed in him if he became a liar._

Mother.

Don't.

Go.

_A week after Bloody Valentine, Cadet Athrun Zala entered the dorm of ZAFT Military Academy and prepared himself for his first soldier day._ (1)

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_Yzak's foot made a loud connection with the oven's stainless door. Behind the silver-haired prefect, Nicol watched with concerned eyes. Beside Nicol, Dearka whistled light-heartedly as if nothing had happened. Athrun stood next to the sink. There were eggshells, flour, cooking equipment and even bottles of spices on the floor. The kitchen was, to put it simply, a catastrophe._

"_Goddamn you, Zala!" Yzak yelled furiously. "Only yesterday you were doing perfectly fucking fine in that football match, and today you just had to blow this place into shit!"_

"It's not Athrun's fault he can't tell between—uh—a frying pan and a saucepan. Or Dearka's—for using too much oil for omelettes," Nicol spoke up, though he was trying to hold his amusement in check. Really, there would not be a 'next time' for Athrun and Dearka in the kitchen. They just did not belong to the cooking world, period.

"_You just shut the fuck up, Nicol! You're not the one who's fucking going to be held responsible for this!" The veins in Yzak's temples stood out. "And you!" He pointed at Dearka. "You're not fixing anything with your stupid whistling, damn it!"_

"_Oi, Yzak, what the hell—"_

"_Shut up!" Yzak roared, cutting Dearka off harshly. "You'd better listen to me right now because I fully dislike having to repeat myself. This fucking floor is my responsibility, and that means that this fucking kitchen in this fucking room is also my responsibility. Got that, you goddamned idiots?"_

"_This is your _responsibility_, correct," Athrun said. He would not stay quiet while Yzak rampaged on and on. "But it's not under your _authority_, o mighty _prefect_."_

"_You—"_

"_What's going on in here, cadets?" Yzak's shouting tirade indeed, called for attention, and it was too bad that one of their instructors happened to pass by their room at that moment. "Prefect, explain!" their instructor, a large man with brush-like moustache and shaven head, bellowed. Yzak, grunting under his breath, stepped forward to explain, and it looked like the instructor had never been angrier. He looked at Athrun and Dearka. "Detention, Cadet Elthman, Cadet Zala. Meet me after this mess is cleaned up. And you, prefect, write a report about this."_

_Athrun and Dearka ended up cleaning the ammunition storeroom for the rest of the evening._

_It was late when they finished the task, and dinner was long over. Dearka was annoyed at the thought of having to sleep hungry, and he was complaining all the way back to the dorm. Athrun hoped his comrade would stop complaining, but he did not want to create another commotion. _Maybe Nicol still has some instant porridge or noodles_, he thought to distract himself from the desire to strangle Dearka._

_They walked in the dark, ominous corridor, and the dimness magnified the light of the dark red, rusty moon outside. Pausing, Athrun swallowed. From PLANT, the Moon looked closer and bigger. It reminded him of Kira, whom he had not seen or heard from for three years._

_Noticing that his comrade had stopped walking, Dearka turned. "Man, hurry up. That walrus of an instructor's just given us detention; don't piss me off any more." Athrun was looking at the moon, a sombre expression on his face. "What's with the moon, eh? You got a friend there?" Then Dearka's eyes narrowed. "He's one of us, right?"_

"_He's a Coordinator, if that's what you mean."_

"_Did he—you know," Dearka let it hung. No one in PLANT wanted to talk about the Bloody Valentine._

"_I don't know. We haven't seen each other for the last three years."_

"_You're such a drama queen, Athrun. Really."_

"_Better than a self-centred, stuck-up jerk like our prefect."_

"_Oi, watch it, buddy," Dearka warned. "Wasn't it only yesterday that the two of you got along so fucking well in that football match?"_

"_That's just for the sake of winning," Athrun reasoned stubbornly._

_Scratching the back of his head, Dearka grunted. "Oh, hell if I care. Zalas and Jules should get along, you know. Just like your parents." He paused. "Well, at least there's something in common between you two. You both want to prove yourselves. That's why you're here, right?"_

_The moon was not interesting anymore, so Athrun shifted his gaze to Dearka. "The fuck, Dearka."_

_Dearka grinned like mad. "Aw... let's see what baby Nicol will say when he hears about this. Athrun Manner Zala the Immaculate _swears_." He laughed derisively for a while. "Well, yeah. You should just see Yzak at home. Mommy's darling boy. Never going to be more than that."_

_Athrun did not respond._

"_You see, being the children of well-known parents brings a mountain of difficulties. It's troublesome for you and Yzak, and to a lesser degree, for Nicol and me, too. People will see you through your parents. Damn that, but that's how it is. I know because I see them doing it, Athrun." He knocked Athrun's arm lightly. "So you'd better climb higher, right? Prove yourself, like Yzak's been doing—or more like overdoing."_

_Athrun did not say anything until he reached his room. Nicol was still awake as he entered. If Athrun wanted to talk, he would listen. But he would not be the first to speak. Hunger set aside, Athrun changed out of his cadet uniform and slipped under the blanket. Nicol was still waiting._

"_Nicol?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Will we stray? Will I?" It was not really meant to be answered. He just wanted to be reassured that he was doing these things for the good of PLANT. _For Justice, _Athrun thought._ Admit it; you're just one obsessed kid trying to be a Herculean champion—and you know it.

_It took a long time for Nicol to comprehend Athrun's question, and finally, answer. "Don't worry," his friend said softly. "You won't."_ (2)

0+0+0+0+0

_A little while later, after he received the Order of Nebula, Athrun went to see his late comrades' parents. The Aimans were too angry to accept Athrun's condolences, and they tried to compel him to swear on Miguel's name that he would avenge Miguel's death. Their hatred for the Naturals made Athrun feel sick, but it was understandable, though it did not make it acceptable. He understood the hatred well. The Mackenzies were grieving, but Rusty's mother had been kind to him. Athrun had told her of Rusty's death and how he regretted not being able to go to Rusty's aid faster. She said that Athrun should not make his father sad. _Please return home in one piece, Athrun-kun_, she told him. _Live. For Rusty, too.

_Meeting Nicol's parents was the hardest. Nicol's mother cried as she talked to Athrun about her late son. The whole time, Athrun could not help looking at the grand piano in the corner of the living room. The piano stared back at him, accusing him for its loss. For a moment, he thought he could hear Nicol's soft voice and his playing. Immediately after that thought, the piano became mute again. It would not forgive him, and even if it did, Athrun would not forgive himself._

"Run, Athrun."

_Athrun scrunched his eyes tightly to clear his mind of Nicol's last moment, of those simple but doomed final words that would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he could not—would not—run from the guilt. He would bear it all his life._

_Nicol's father, Yuri, eyed Athrun's hand, which was in a cast, before regarding Athrun again. "You've been hurt, too."_

_Athrun was not so sure if Yuri was talking about his hand._

"_No parents should have to bury their children." (3) Yuri shook his head forlornly. "And no children should have to bear the mistake of their parents."_

_Athrun did not ask if Yuri was blaming himself, too, for Nicol's death. He knew that ZAFT soldiers had to have legal approval from their parents to join ZAFT. Yuri had to have been the one who gave Nicol permission, Athrun realized. He remembered Nicol saying that he was fighting to protect his parents. If Nicol had told his parents that, it would have only made their wound more painful. No child should have to be in war at all, but that was only an ideal. The reality was the situation today. Adults might have been the one to trigger wars, but their children would inevitably be involved and suffer the consequences. This was the endless circle of war, the mistake of humanity's voracity._

_Athrun wondered whether Patrick would be sad and mourn for him if it had been him who died instead of Nicol._

0+0+0+0+0

The memories changed themselves in such swift pace that he could not fully recognize them. They blurred and mixed, forming myriads of colours and faces. One moment it was his mother's smile, the next it was his father's gun, pointed at him. One moment it was Heine's exploding GOUF, the next it was his first pair of running shoes in the last five years.

Yet this very memory left Athrun feeling acerbic.

He knew this apartment room, this situation, this memory. This was one of the memories he would rather not see merely because it was too good of a memory—and good things died faster. _Because you find reality bit hard, Zala_, he said to himself. _Can't this memory remain here, trapped in my Rapunzel tower with no Rapunzel hair to help me reach it?_

"_Don't I get my birthday kiss?"_

"_Nope." Cagalli tapped the tip of his nose. "Morning breath, you know."_

_He faked a stupid grimace. "I'm hurt, Cagalli-sama. Is that how you treat the birthday boy?"_

"_Well, the birthday boy has to be a good boy first so then he can have his present." She seized his blanket from him and folded it. Putting the blanket at the foot of his bed, she moved to sit beside him again. "Rise and shine, you sloth. It took a lot of effort to run to your apartment this early, you know."_

_Athrun curled himself up next to her, draping an arm across her lap and burying his face in her side. He was only seventeen, and seventeen he was going to _be_ today._

"_Stop that. I'm ticklish."_

"_Uh-huh," he mumbled uncaringly. Today was good, and he felt good. All was well, and he did not want to let go. "Can I have my present now, Santa?"_

_Cagalli kissed the top of his head. "What do you want?"_

"_You. Here."_

_She slapped the back of his head playfully. "Pervert."_

"_With me, I mean. Spend today with me or something. Only for today. Forget Berlin or Moscow." She was quiet, and he started to worry that her duties would take her from him, even today. "Please?"_

_Sighing, she pushed his head away and made him lie on his back. Holding him there with a palm on his chest, she shook her head but failed miserably to look disappointed. She realized that he knew it, because the smile, genuine and content, reached his eyes. "Spoiled brat."_

"_Takes one to know one."_

_Cagalli was the Rapunzel whom he would never be able to lay his hands on. She, the Rapunzel of his life, would escape the prison by herself instead of waiting dormant in her tower. In the presence of her bravery, her so-called prince would become too withered to look at her in the eyes._

0+0+0+0+0

_Contrary to the popular opinion of their friends, they _did_ have a talk about their so-called romantic relationship after the end of the Second War._

_The Talk—capitalized for, he believed, the sake of self-appointed importance—happened in Cagalli's office, the room where no familial photograph but for a small one of the late Uzumi resided. Cagalli's private life did not belong here, yet it was here they were having The Talk about their private life. In a moment, they would become Her Excellency and her loyal subordinate, a head of state and her subject. She was half sitting on her desk, seeing but not registering him, in her Head Representative's dark uniform. He stood before her, distant, in his black suit. What a set of clothes for mourning, Athrun thought glumly._

_Yet their silence had already been doing the mourning._

"_What are we going to do now?" He had practiced all night long to sound calm and composed. He did, but it did not mean that he was as calm and composed as he thought he would be. _What are we going to be now_ was what he had really meant, but it was too late to change his question now._

"_There's no going back, Athrun. We can't turn back time. What's happened has happened."_

_So it was decided._

"_But," Cagalli spoke again, "let's have an agreement on several things. For the future. From now on, we're not going to talk about my screwed-up almost marriage. And about your... business with the Lacus-wannabe."_

"_Her name is Meer, Cagalli. At least please call her that."_

"_Whatever." To be honest, he wanted to catch even the faintest hope in Cagalli's dismissal—or disapproval, for a better term—of Meer, but it seemed that she did not give him the pleasure. "And my dealing with the Seirans and Orb. And your dealing with Yzak and ZAFT." Her eyes were on his. "This is our Pandora's jar."_

_He forced a smiled. "After Pandora opened the jar and unfortunately released all evils to the world, she managed to keep a single thing from escaping."_

"_Hope," she said, pulling him into a hug._

"_Hope," he repeated. Back then, on that ship, it was he who had pulled her into a hug, but it was only until now that he understood her feeling at that time. Despite his selfishness, this was not how he wanted their separation to be. After all, he dealt better with disappointment than understanding. Her understanding meant she could to see something that he did not see—_yet_, hopefully._

_Being understood surely brought its own pain._

_She chuckled against his shoulder, the laughter shaking her body against his. "I hope one day we'll be as happy as we want to be, Athrun. I hope one day we'll be able to talk to each other with less pain." Of course she did not say that it would be painless, because pain lingered, after all. Both of them knew that all too well. "I hope one day we'll be able to—" she choked a bit but continued nonetheless, "to shake hands and say 'How do you do' and really say, 'I love you.' I hope one day you'll smile _at_ me, not _for_ me. I hope one day we'll—we'll be able to say, 'This a wonderful world.'_

I hope you'll be much happier than I will ever be_, he wanted to say, but decided against it. There was time for honesty, and there was time for courtesy. What he did not let Cagalli know—though she might have realized it already—would not hurt her. "This is not goodbye," he said. A little wish would not hurt anyone either, he reasoned._

_She pulled back from his embrace but maintained the closeness. "This is not," she agreed._

_They both knew that no matter what, they could not have total closure. They were so interlaced, intertwined, interconnected with each other that it would be impossible to free themselves from the tangled web of their lives. But it went too far to say that there was no Athrun without Cagalli or no Cagalli without Athrun; that was too philosophical, too romantic. There was no perfect love. Humans did not love like that._

_The Talk ended, and so did 'them.'_

This isn't a final 'Farewell,' but this isn't a promised 'See you again' either, Zala_, he said to himself. Deep down, he knew that Cagalli knew this, too—knew but could not change it. _This way, you two won't be going anywhere. _But he knew that, didn't he?_

_Or maybe he was just too much of a coward to admit that to himself._

0+0+0+0+0

_When Meyrin finally answered his call, Athrun had never been more relieved._

"_What is it this time?"_

"_This." He raised his left hand. "The squirt had the guts to bite me." He scowled as Meyrin blinked in disbelief before chuckling mirthfully. "All because I interrupted his merry little brawl with the other children in my neighbourhood."_

_That got Meyrin's attention. "Alright. Your squirt, as you have dubbed him, has been involved in two fights a day. Spare me the details, but am I right?"_

"_What? How come I didn't know he was fighting in school?"_

"_Well, his homeroom teacher is going to call you tonight—just wait for it. But," Meyrin cast him her serious counsellor look, "if this continues, he'll probably be dropped from the school's track team."_

_He grumbled. "I didn't know about that either."_

"_What? That he'd been selected into the track team?" She rolled her eyes. "Athrun-san, don't you talk about anything with Dietmar?"_

"_Well, excuse me if I'm not the best nanny ever."_

"_Athrun-san," Meyrin called impatiently, "should I remind you that it was _you_ who insisted on taking him from Murrue-san and bringing him from PLANT? Should I dig into your old documents and show you that it's _you_ who initiated the idea of being Dietmar's foster father?"_

_Athrun raised his hand again. "I get your point, Meyrin. What's next?"_

"'_What's next' you say? Athrun-san, nothing's going to happen if you don't start doing something! I'll speak as a counsellor now; have some time together, sit together and talk. You both need that."_

"_Yes, Ma'am." Athrun smiled weakly. "I'll try to do that. Oh, can you tell Dietmar's homeroom teacher not to call me tonight? I'm on duty tonight and Dietmar's with Kira, so there won't be anyone to answer the phone tonight." He thanked Meyrin and ended the call._

_The black, blank screen looked like it was laughing at him, at his tactless inability to deal with a five-year old boy._

_But it was not entirely his fault, was it? How could he, for example, know the way to tie Dietmar's tie double-knobbed? (4) Patrick had never been around to show him how, and he was too young to remember how Lenore tied his tie. And he did not want to start on his tone—Kira was far more suited to talk to Dietmar than he was. _Add some warmth into your voice_, Kira once advised. _Use a kinder, softer tone. Don't be too stern. And smile wider, can you?

_Well, there was a reason why Kira was an excellent househusband, a fact proven now that baby Elaine was in the picture, and he was not. His best friend's advice was easier said than done. He still had not yet made up with Dietmar; the boy had gone to sulk in his room after biting Athrun's hand._

_Athrun cracked open the door of Dietmar's bedroom. "You're still awake?"_

_Dietmar gave a small noise._

_He came in. "Meyrin called." He paused. "You got into a fight at school today?"_

"_Not your problem."_

_Athrun took a very, very deep breath and counted to fifteen—because ten did not work. "It _is_ my problem. You know they will call me to the school."_

"_...Like you ever come."_

"_Look, Dietmar," he snapped. "Why don't we try and be more civil to each other? We're living under the same roof, and I don't want to be angry everyday. You will talk to me, and I will listen to you. Talk about anything you want." He did not mean it to sound like a command, but he did not want to give up the effort so easily. They _were_ going to talk now._

_Dietmar moved a bit on the bed, pulling his blanket off of him. "I don't know what you want to hear."_

"_Try school for a start."_

_Dietmar looked hesitated. "...I fight."_

"_Well, yes, I know that." He scooted to sit on Dietmar's bed. "Why?"_

"_I don't know. There's a kid with an ugly face and a fat nose saying bad things about me being a PLANT boy. I kick him. He kick back."_

_Wincing, Athrun decided not to comment on that. "Meyrin also said you got onto the school's track team."_

"_Yes!" Dietmar beamed—and Athrun marvelled at how fast the boy's mood changed. "I'm the most fast runner in class, and Kaname-sensei say I must join the team. She say we'll win the district tournament next month if I'm on the team."_

Good for you, boy_, Athrun thought. The conversation was going rather well. "That's great. Congratulations. Well then, why don't we buy shoes for practice? I think I can start jogging a little with you every morning."_

"_And basketball shoes, too?" Dietmar was bouncing on the bed. "I really like playing basketball. We can play together, right? Can you?"_

_He grinned. "Well, I'm quite good at basketball, actually." There was a reason why Kira hated one-on-one matches with him with a passion, after all._

"_We can start tomorrow?"_

_He could not win against the sparkle in Dietmar's eyes, the hopeful look in the boy's face._

_The next day, he bought shoes for both Dietmar and himself. They got the same pair of shoes only in different sizes. It was Athrun's first pair of running shoes in five years and the very first pair of running shoes that he had bought in Orb. At the cashier, he was given a small, yellow duckling figurine as bonus for buying two pairs of shoes in the shop._

_Dietmar was holding the duckling tenderly on their way home._

_Athrun averted his eyes from the road. "You like it?"_

"_Can I put it here?" Dietmar touched the duckling to the dashboard. "Your car will be real more cool."_

"_Cooler," he corrected. It was really time he gave the boy a private lesson on grammar. "This car is already cool the way it is, but yes, you can. It's your car, too. I'll plaster it there tomorrow."_

_Dietmar's grin was so wide that Athrun thought it would split Dietmar's face. Still, he liked it better than the boy's sulking face. "Thank you!"_

"_One more thing," Athrun added, "call me Alex when we're outside the house. Athrun's not a very cool name, and there are a lot of people who hate my name. Bad guys hate my name, and I don't want to get into a useless fight. So Athrun is only when it's just the two of us. Or when we're with Kira or old man Hathaway. Got it?" He patted Dietmar's head. He would ask Kira about tying ties, double-knobbed or not, and cooking as soon as he got home. Meyrin and his new but witty secretary, William Herbert Young, would surely be very helpful with tips and tricks, too. "And tomorrow, we're going to jogging together."_

_The yellow duckling seemed to be smiling along with them, Athrun thought._

0+0+0+0+0

_On the fourth War Memorial Day in Orb, a small ceremony was held at the War Memorial Park. The Head Representative was present and was scheduled to give a small speech. The National Domestic Security guards, including Rene Hathaway himself, were there, too, to make sure that the event would run as scheduled._

_He and Young were standing behind many lines of people. He was twenty, and though it had been four years since Uzumi Nara Athha passed away in defence of Orb's ideals and sovereignty, people still mourned for the dead. The graves might be empty and the bodies lost, but the people still mourned. And Athrun did, too._

"_For me, this place is a waste land and I'm a hollow man."_

_Though tempted to smile at that, Athrun simply eyed Young. His secretary was looking very grave. Young too, Athrun knew, was a war survivor; he must have experienced a similar loss. "Your name isn't Thomas Stearns, Will."_

"_Well, sure. I'm only a William Herbert who's terrible at being romantically poetic, but you don't need to remind me of that." Young snickered, knowing that Athrun was trying to be sarcastic but failed as he did not even smirk. "See, Boss, one of my professors said that history teaches us lessons, and humans should learn from history. But I don't think history repeats itself. It's humans who repeat history. Though war is always a part of history, it's pointless, meaningless. I don't believe there are any lessons for us, much less for its survivor, to learn."_

_Athrun was staring ahead at the heads of the people, some bowed in respect to the dead. Since Cagalli was at the podium, her blonde head was the farthest away. These people must have experienced losing people important to them. But Cagalli had not only lost a father; for her, Uzumi had also been a mentor, teacher and leader. Athrun had not seen his mother's death with his own eyes, thus his sympathy could not help but multiplying when it came to Cagalli. He knew that both of them suffered from survivor guilt; but Cagalli's was different from his._

_It was like holding on to the Karnaedis board of ancient Greece, right after the ship was wrecked and its passengers were swallowed in the sea. Uzumi let go of the board so that Cagalli could stay alive, but by doing so, his death somewhat became Cagalli's burden. It was so unfair, Athrun thought. He could not understand when selflessness leapt over the dividing line and became selfishness. Or maybe the line was too thin. Or maybe selflessness and selfishness were actually one thing that people took for granted to be two different things._

_But then again, if he was placed in Uzumi's shoes at the time, he knew that he would have done the same._

"_I think there is," he said quietly at last. There was one lesson indeed that he learnt best from war. "It teaches me sadness."_

_Humans simply did not heal._

0+0+0+0+0

_It was rare to see Cagalli with the children in the orphanage that Kira ran, but it was rarer still to see Cagalli read to the children._

_Athrun leaned against the doorway, waiting for her to finish the story. He was having the second day of his three-day term break, but still he had to know how his responsibility was doing. So he dropped by Kira's orphanage that afternoon after one of his occasional dates—he did, really, being a healthy man he was. Cagalli was sitting on the carpeted floor, surrounded by twelve children. He could not pick up her words from his place, but her soft voice did not sound very calm and he thought that there was slight trembling at a few parts._

_One of the children noticed him. She waved enthusiastically at him. "Alex-san!"_

_Smiling, he waved back and gave Cagalli a subtle signal to continue. He would not mind waiting a little longer. Cagalli finished the story five minutes later and closed the book. It only took small effort to usher the children to the dining room for lunch. To Athrun, they looked neither excited nor entertained as they passed him._

"_Cagalli-san is scary today," the girl whispered to him. "Alex-san should read to us next time."_

_He ran his hand through her hair and smiled widely. "Let's see if Cagalli-san will give me another day off, shall we? Now, your lunch is waiting. Hurry."_

_The girl beamed and ran to catch up with her friends._

_Athrun went to sit beside Cagalli. "What a surprise, Cagalli. You never struck me as a storyteller. What did you read?"_

"_That story of the big bad wolf and three piglets. Classic. You've got yourself a boy; you should've known the story better." She looked away. "I told them how I hate the two elder piglets for not building a strong house." There was no doubt that there was a strained anger in her voice. "The houses are their shelter; they should've been cleverer, don't you agree? What's the point of building a straw house or a wooden house? They should've known who their enemy was. They should've built stronger houses, prepared a trap or two for the enemy, or something like that. Whatever." She sighed. "The story's stupid, really."_

"_Cagalli," he began, quiet and glum, "Uzumi-san didn't just let Orb be burnt away."_

"_But he didn't do enough to prevent Orb from being burnt either."_

_Athrun suppressed the urge to wince. Back then during the First War, it was Cagalli who reminded him that he must not give up on his father, because at least his father was still alive and he still had the chance to talk to his father. He had never given enough thought to how much it must have hurt Cagalli to say it, since her own father had just died in front of her eyes. Now he knew._

_And above all, he did not want her to stray and take the wrong path like he did. "You don't hate him."_

"_But it doesn't mean I can't be angry at him." She turned to look at him, eyes hard and accusing. He felt uneasy. "Don't play semantics with me, Athrun. You, of all people, don't have the right to tell me what I should feel for my father."_

_He gritted his teeth. _So be it._ If she wanted to be unreasonable and bent under the pressure of her duty, so be it. She was right, after all. He did not have any right to lecture her about what being a good father's child meant. "As you wish then." He had only walked two steps from her when she called his name in a hoarse whisper. Still with his back to her, he waited._

_A loud exhalation. A mirthless chuckle. "I was being ridiculous, weren't I?"_

_The last time he had acknowledged it out loud to her face cost him her—and their so-called love life. "No, you're not." He sighed. "But I admit sometimes it's hard to deal with you when you're playing stupid and making things more difficult than they already are."_

"_So now I'm stupid and difficult."_

_He wanted to slam his head against the floor. Or rather, he wanted to get inside Cagali's head and knock some sense into her. "Cagalli." Turning, he took one of her hands. "Cagalli, I—you know," he took a deep breath, "I'm not good at this kind of thing. I'm a total stranger to the act of comforting people, and you know that." He was ashamed to realize how he, in his anger, had just tried to leave her. He might have not been the best person to comfort her—or anyone at that, but at least he could offer her his companionship. _Great, Zala. Now you know regret always comes too late._ "Come on. Don't make me feel guiltier, or I'll splatter my intestines on the floor out of guilt. At least respect my attempts. Please."_

"_Well, you fail. Your attempts to comfort me are just as horrible as your attempts to propose."_

"_I still insist on trying." Her tone had become colder and her face had darkened, but Athrun had not yet realized why. He was tempted to roll his eyes at her biting sarcasm. _Screw us and our odd sense of humour_, he cursed inwardly. "Get some rest. I know the meeting with the Council today was quite fucked up. This time, you're listening to me. And you will do what I say. I could care less about other things."_

_Getting up, Cagalli smacked the storybook to his stomach. "Read that to Dietmar. Tell him about what a big bad wolf you really are." She paused at the doorway. "And next time, Athrun, don't go all morality and preach to me about what I can or can't think with your collars left open wide enough to show those hickeys of yours."_

_He hurriedly tidied his collars and buttoned his shirt, but Cagalli had already left the room by the time he finished._

_Damn his love life._

0+0+0+0+0

The first thing he recognised as he opened his eyes was the ceiling. Then came the clock. 01.30. Midnight, it seemed to be. The room was dimly lit, but the ceiling still looked white. _It's not a white death_, he reminded himself. _Only a white room._ His left arm was stabbed into with an IV tube, and he still could not move. There was no Cagalli, Kira or Dietmar beside him. _Of course_, he thought, trying not to be disappointed. _I'm only dreaming._

He closed his eyes again. Even the dim light was too bright for his not-yet-accustomed eyes. Still hazy from sedatives and sleep, he did not know how long it had been since he was shot. The dreams felt real, but here he was—in reality, with no novelty greetings, with no congratulations for waking up. He had really woken up alone. Battered, weak, disoriented and alone.

Just perfect.

Oh well. At least Cagalli was alright and Kira was with her. At least he could be relieved about that.

A noise from his left made him eye that direction, because he really could barely move his head. What he saw made him want to relapse to his dreams again. What he saw vulgarly reminded him of his father's gun, the taste of merciless betrayal and naked denial yet again in his mouth, their names on the tip of his tongue. The all too familiar memory slammed back at him, raw and painful in its velocity.

William Herbert Young was aiming a revolver at him, and behind Young stood a solemn-faced Rene Hathaway.

0+0+0+0+0

Notes:

(1) Athrun actually joined ZAFT on February 20, CE 70. I just take the liberty of writing.

(2) I've written a fic on Nicol and this to-stray-or-not-to-stray thing, _As Red as the Blood that Beethoven Cries_.

(3) from the speech of Theodén King of Rohan in JRR Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers_ at the burial of his son.

(4) I've never recalled finding Athrun with a tie on. As far as I remember, all of his clothes are turtle-necked, T-shirts or Nehru-collared.


	10. Chapter 10: A Secret Revealed

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: this pratz isn't the owner of _Seed_. This pratz doesn't make any profit out of BAZ except from making its reviews a very pleasing ego booster. This pratz doesn't have anything but the plot and some original characters you'll never find in _Seed_.

Notes: Happy Belated New Year! This is your belated gift!

I am so sorry for not replying to your fantastic reviews. My schedule's been a pain lately, and I was kinda trapped in a rural area with technology illiteracy the last two weeks of December. I am sorry, too, that I could not make it before Christmas 2007. All in all, it means you have to bear with me a little longer. Evil me, I know...

Now, answers to some questions... First, Athrun's hickeys aren't from Cagalli. Accept it or leave in peace. Second, I've never watched the chibified Seed of the Tanehara Gekijyo scenes until some of you asked about Torii the Second (I went like O.O and begged a friend of mine to lend me her DVDs thus watched). In fact, I got the idea for Torii the Second from the Suit CD manga, in which Kira says he dreams to be able to build a robotic bird before Athrun leaves for PLANT. As for the question why Athrun happens to be Dietmar's foster father, you will know soon. Soon. Evil, aren't I?

Fledgling said to throw rocks at her, but I'm sure you won't do that. Just send her cookies and chocolates of love, will you?

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**Chapter 10**

It indeed felt like he was facing his father's gun once again.

In the beginning of his stay in Orb after the First War, Cagalli often found him screaming in his sleep, tortured by nightmares. Over and over she offered to listen, if he wanted to talk. He never accepted her offer, but even though he was reluctant to speak, he knew that she probably had a good guess of what his nightmares were about. Sometimes he even suspected that she knew what his biggest fear was.

_Whatever about the past_. After this, he would not have the chance to tell her at all.

_This is the end._

"You there." Hathaway's voice was tight and chillingly cold. "It takes more than just sabotaging the equipment to kill him."

It was only then that Athrun noticed a movement of something—_someone_ behind the curtain next to his bed.

"Don't try anything stupid." Young's voice was equally cold. "Even though you have ZAFT backing you up, you're all alone now."

_Doesn't anyone care to tell me what the hell is going on?_

Just as Hathaway took a step closer, there was a hasty movement behind the curtain. A window flapped open violently, and wind rushed into the room. Then there was a loud 'thud' as someone landed at the balcony. Young dashed to the window and pulled the curtain open, pointing his gun at the open air, his expression uptight and suspiciously shocked for a reason Athrun did not know.

"He's got away!"

"Allen, Zameera," Hathaway spoke to a mini-communicator hidden behind the collar of his suit. Athrun knew the names—Hathaway's first and second deputy in the office, also his colleagues. "I want the bastard captured alive, got that?" He turned to look at Young but not before glancing at Athrun. "Stay here, Young."

Young gritted his teeth, looking torn between staying and running after the suspicious man. Athrun impatiently followed Hathaway's departing figure with his eyes. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a rough voice, all that was left of his vocal cord, unused for a week. He heard a sigh escape Young's mouth.

Slipping his black revolver inside his suit, Young grabbed the water jug on the night table and poured a glass. "Water?" he offered, and even before Athrun nodded, Young was helping him drink slowly.

"Will," Athrun rasped throatily.

"Too stubborn to die, aren't you?" Young said, a hint of his earlier coldness still present. After closing the window, he stood by Athrun's bed. "I know you're not in a condition where you can even pretend to be alright, so let me update you for the time being. You've been out cold for eight days. And when I say eight, I mean eight _consecutive_ days. Seven bullets put you in a coma. Four struck you, two missed and only one graced the Head Representative on her wrist. The medic said something about hypovolemia—blood loss. You got hypovolemic shock due to the internal bleeding, and if we were even a minute late back there," his secretary paused, "we probably would have found you dead."

Athrun closed his eyes and took a breath so deep that it hurt his chest.

"One of the bullets severed a bundle of nerves on your left arm. You'll probably find it difficult to move that arm now, and even though that arm will recover, you won't be able to lift heavy weight with it in the future. In addition, your fall broke three of your ribs, and one of them missed an inch from impaling your left lung. You really gave the medic a hard time, you know." Young poured one more glass of water, this time for himself. "Well, I can recite the entire report on your condition, but that can wait until tomorrow. Oh, for your information, the Head Representative only got a very, very minor injury. Only a scratch or two on her wrist. Hathaway said you've done great."

"Th—" he croaked. "The person earlier."

"Why won't you just listen quietly?" Young sighed. "But oh well. I'm not going to incapacitate your pride as my boss." It was the first joke, though dry, that Athrun got from Young that day. _Finally_, he thought. "Right now, you're still half-dead—or half-alive, as Meyrin-san insists. There's no point in exhausting you further with this, so you rest. I'll give a more elaborated update tomorrow." Young stopped speaking and bowed his head slightly, as if trying to stop himself from saying what he actually wanted to say. "For now, just be glad that you're alive," Young said and raised his head, his eyes grave, "Athrun."

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It was, literally, an exhausting night. Athrun drifted in and out of consciousness to find that he was neither less tired nor more refreshed than before. He knew that Hathaway had put a couple of guards—he heard their movements—in front of his room. At two, he asked to be drugged so he could just sleep and forget Young's strange expression earlier, but when the nurse came, he changed his mind. There was no way he could forget, not when he would only see it again in his dreams—no thanks to his special talent.

Besides, Young _knew_.

_Knows that you're Athrun Zala? That you're a ZAFT deserter, a fugitive, a rogue?_ his mind supplied sarcastically.

_Shut up_, he scolded himself mentally. He did not want to think about it. He just wanted to know what was going on in the last whole week. Young was the first person he met the following day, as his secretary had promised, and Athrun demanded the update. Young gave him an irritated look, mixed with a hint of disbelief and anger. But Athrun much preferred he were mistaken about the last emotion.

"Above anything, I _am_ angry," Young said, as if knowing Athrun's thoughts.

Athrun inhaled deeply, but this time he tried not to burden his lungs further.

"Five years, you see, _five fucking years_ that I've been working my ass for you." Young was many things, but above all, he was well-mannered. Not even once had Athrun ever heard him speak derogatively. "And it never crossed your mind even once to tell me about the man behind the Casanova façade, you bastard."

"I'm not," he paused to let out a small cough, "a womanizer."

"Oh? Then if you have the strength to disagree with that claim, why didn't you ever tell me anything about _Athrun Zala_, for Casanova's sake?"

He looked away. "Will my reason satisfy you?"

Young grunted harshly. "Bastard."

"You're not the first person to call me that."

The door creaked open to reveal Hathaway. Once again, the three of them were gathered in the room. Athrun hoped that this time he would get a complete update of the week he had been unconscious.

"Sir," Athrun greeted. Hathaway was as solemn as last night, and it bothered him. Hathaway had his moments of professionalism, but he had never been this distant before.

"Will," Hathaway called. "Have you?"

"Has he what?"

Hathaway finally looked at him seriously. "There's a load of work waiting to be dealt with in the office, so I won't be here for too long. I take it that Will will take care of you." He eyed Athrun's secretary, knowing that Athrun's real identity was not a secret to Young anymore. "My only advice is that it's not going to sound like fun for you."

Young rolled his eyes. "To think that I'll witness the day the Head of National Security Office himself describes something like this as fun..."

"I'll take my leave now." He patted Athrun on a shoulder lightly.

"He's in a hurry, isn't he?" Athrun said to Young after Hathaway left.

"Lord, have mercy on me. _You_ put him—and us all—in a hurry." Young reached for his suitcase and pulled out a stack of folders. His secretary showed him a piece of paper. "I need your signature here," he said.

"What's that?"

"An agreement in which I agree to be hired as your defender at the trial."

Athrun's frown twisted deeper as an ugly feeling sank into his already tight stomach. "What trial?"

Young scowled not so discreetly. "For now, let me just give you the abridged account." He paused, taking a deep breath, then said, "They're arranging a military tribunal for you."

The words dropped the sky on Athrun's head. At a complete loss, he found himself unable to understand the manifold, multiplying _whys_.

"This is not even a military case."

"I thought the same thing. But our reasoning just doesn't work with them. It's _Athrun Zala_ they're after, not Alex Dino. And by all definitions, Athrun Zala _is_ a soldier."

"Was," he corrected.

"Is." Young put the paper on Athrun's lap. "You never got a formal discharge from ZAFT."

"It's in the past."

"Too bad your past is licking at your heels right now."

"Will." Athrun looked down at his hands, still bandaged, with dried blood on the pale skin between his fingers. The hands that killed. The hands that had failed to protect in the past, numerous times. The hands that demanded the unabridged account of the truth so that they might gain justice for what they did. "What has happened after the gunfire?"

Sighing, Young dropped himself on a chair beside Athrun's bed. For someone who was only a year younger than Athrun, he looked much, much older. Clearly distressed, Young told Athrun all that he wanted to know.

The world knew.

His medic account had been mysteriously leaked to the press after the shooting. Worse, there were some that shot pictures of him on the stretcher as he was brought from the dance hall to an ambulance outside the Royal Palace of Orb. It was gorily horrible, Young said, with him dying and blood dripping all the way to the ambulance. And it became more horrible even as two hours after he was brought to the Military Hospital of Orb, the information on his identity and the relay of post-shooting chaos was aired almost throughout the world. It caused a large-scale spreading of rumours and raised restlessness. "The office's been trying the best to prevent the leak of information, but it seemed that the media got their source dead right," Young said. "In Orb's history, we've never suffered this greatly from an internal leak."

Athrun tightened his fists as he heard—and was forced to grit his teeth as pain shot through his entire left arm.

_Crippled and useless, aren't you?_ his mind taunted. _And cornered_.

"How is the Head Representative?"

"Physically Her Excellency's fine. Mark—Kira-san took Her Excellency immediately after the shooting and hid her whereabouts for the following five days. Secrecy ensures safety, as our guide book says, I believe. Since Her Excellency returned two days ago, the Representative Council's been holding a marathon meeting." If he did not know Young, he would identify Young's expression as pity. "Following the rumour-spreading, two days ago PLANT has handed over an official request to reclaim you back to, I quote, 'preserve the well conduct of the military in the execution of ZAFT military code. But Orb hasn't given an answer yet." Young let out another sigh. "This has been the worst assassination attempt on Her Excellency, but I didn't think there'll be a shift of attention amidst it all."

"The attention shifted to me," Athrun concluded glumly.

"To you," Young agreed.

"Why hasn't the Council announced an answer?"

Young looked sarcastically perplexed. "Why, you ask? Because the target is still hospitalised after almost getting his ass popped by some loonies, of course." (1)

Athrun looked at the paper on his lap. For the first time in seven years since the end of the First War, the name Athrun Zala instead of Alex Dino was typed neatly on such a legal document. The world indeed did know.

As a military member, a court-martial awaited him if he ever committed a serious offence or abused the military code. But this case was different. It was not a mere court-martial. He was to be tried in a military tribunal, meaning that he was put in a place of a war criminal, out of all civil matters. The trial would be largely militaristic. Charges would be urged by a military authority, while prosecutors and juror-judges who were going to decide on the sentences were military members. Meanwhile, the accused, Athrun knew from his cadet time in the ZAFT Military Academy could actually hire a civilian lawyer. That was what Young was proposing now.

Athrun wondered which would be more excruciating: being tried by ZAFT, his former institution, or by Orb, his present residence. Or, much worse, by PLANT, the homeland he had never been able to forget.

It hurt even to swallow. But it was not like he could swallow again his lie for seven years. In less than a week his careful, seven-year lie had crumbled to pieces, his identity brutally exposed, his destiny consequently decided.

He had always hated the word. _Destiny was something you chose for yourself_, Kira said in front of Dullindal's gun. He wanted to believe in Kira's words.

_Yet false identity meant false destiny_, Dullindal once said. Athrun wondered of how true it was now that he could not and was not allowed to escape from his destiny as a Zala.

"You're not a military lawyer, Will," he relented after a long silence.

"So what if I'm not a military lawyer? I'm going to defend a _civilian_ here."

"You're not even a lawyer."

"Don't be so inconsiderate," Young said sharply. "I _am_ your secretary. I will follow you unto whatever end."

Athrun knew that further debate with Young would be futile. His secretary held double degrees in law and history, so basically, Young knew more about the law than he did. The fact that Young was not a formal lawyer did not really matter, actually.

He just did not want to drag another person down with him.

The trial would put him at a point where he might be forced to risk those he held dear to himself. Kira, probably, would be the one in the most mortal peril. Then Lacus and Cagalli would trail after that. And many more people would, too. It was just as he thought; his fall would cost a bigger number of falls, a bilateral or even multinational problem, a global ruckus, a cosmic shakeup.

"I'm going to be your defender no matter what, Athrun. I'm not doing this out of stupidity or desperation; I know I'm not going to win this time." Young rose from his seat. "But this is one case of which I don't want to lose."

He stopped Young before his secretary had the chance to turn and leave. "Last night, there's a person—something about sabotage and ZAFT."

"I'm not sure I can tell you anything," Young admitted rather regretfully. "After the gunfire, Colonel Jule contacted Hathaway-san, saying that we'd better put you under complete watch. I don't know the details, though." There was no doubt of anger resided in Young's expression, voice and gestures. Athrun did not have to ask to know that Young was still hiding something from him.

He wondered if all the people around him had the frustrating habit of keeping him in the dark.

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That night, Athrun received an unexpected visit from, of all people, Yzak.

"You look like crap," Dearka, Yzak's ever present deputy, commented offhandedly as he seated himself at the foot of Athrun's bed since Yzak had taken the only chair next to the bed.

"Should I thank you for that?" he countered dryly.

"Well, I meant that as a compliment. I thought you'd look like shit."

"Thank you."

Yzak watched the casual banter between two of his former comrades in the Red solemnly, and a solemn Yzak Jule never meant for anything good, Athrun knew. It irritated him more.

And Dearka, sensing Yzak's unusual recluse and Athrun's holding back words that were already at the tip of his tongue, shook his head and groaned noisily. "Alright, boys. Alright. Since I know you two have things to settle, I'll just shut up and enjoy being the good spectator I am as I watch you two hawking each other." At Athrun's half-glare—because he was still partially weak from his previous dose of sedatives, Dearka said nothing. He moved from his place and leaned onto the wall next to the door, arms folding in front of his chests. He was giving Athrun and Yzak enough space to talk by themselves, but they were still in Dearka's hearing range.

"You knew."

It was not an accusation, and he did not mean it to be one at all. And Yzak seemed to be able to grasp perfectly what he meant.

"You knew it from the beginning. That's why ZAFT offered to cooperate with the local security for this conference. That's why Shinn served as Lacus's guard for this conference even though last month Dearka said Shinn was still in his unit—a preventive protection. That's why _you_ were here." Why did he not realize it earlier? A high-ranked military officer, almost a de facto leader of ZAFT and future representative of ZAFT in the PLANT Supreme Council personally went to dirty his hands with a mere security coordination though on a world-scale conference. How humble.

Yzak's gaze never faltered. "What makes you think I knew?"

"What makes you think I wouldn't have thought that you knew?" he retaliated. "You knew, Yzak." He decided to stop beating around the bush and aimed at the bull's eye: "You know why ZAFT wanted to kill me."

The room chilled, with only Athrun's medical equipment possessing enough dare to beep loudly.

"ZAFT doesn't want to kill you," Yzak said gravely after a strangling silence. "But I admit there are parts of ZAFT who prefer to have you dead to have you alive."

"Why didn't I hear anything about that since we decided to cooperate?"

"Are you familiar with the work of IRA, Athrun?" Dearka spoke up from his place.

"Isn't this a very unfitting time to t—"

"What's their most known modus operandi in performing homicide aside from car bombing?"

Athrun did not like to be distracted like this. Yzak was not being his snappy self, and Dearka was not helping with his sudden questioning. What did IRA have to do with this? "They cut off their victims' noses and—"

He stopped abruptly and did not continue.

This time, Yzak was the one to speak. "The man found last month in Neo Equator was actually the fourth casualty. All of them had their right hands cut off. Adding with the last on H-4, ZAFT has lost a total of five officers. Two were my subordinates. Another was about to be promoted to brigadier general, and one was a lieutenant colonel." Yzak entwined his fingers altogether. "They were from different units, different divisions and different locations of duty. There was nothing in common about them all except one thing."

Athrun waited.

"All were officers who escaped either Jachin Due or Requiem but returned to re-enlist in ZAFT."

Eyes closed, Athrun took a deep, shaky breath. His chests still hurt, and now the throbbing pain multiplied with the realization of what Yzak told him really meant.

Deserters. Traitors who were pardoned under Dullindal's long lasting influence and served once again in ZAFT. Just like him.

And suddenly it all made a perfect sense with a blaring click. Of course. Of course there were people who would think that the treason was unforgivable. To such people, the treason meant that deserters only became ZAFT officers when ZAFT was having the upper hand but cowardly left when it came to ruin. To such people, ZAFT did such need such dishonourable soldiers. Thus, to them, ZAFT must be cleansed of the heap of Brutus and Cassius alike—at all costs.

"It's a cleansing, isn't it?" His voice had turned rough, choked by emotion. Yzak did not answer him, but somehow he did not want an answer. Yzak's answer would only solidify the fact that the omen had become true.

"Back then," Yzak was not looking at him, "I asked you to come back to PLANT. I said you were only wasting your potency on Earth. I told you you'd be pardoned like I was. That's why you had to come back." His gaze was set once again on Athrun. "I don't know if I should be glad because you did."

Dearka, as solemn as his two friends, said, "I guess it'll always be different when it comes to you, Athrun."

He knew that Dearka did not mean it as an insult, but he could not help feeling hurt. Just as Yzak had implied that he would always had the potency to repeat history simply because he was a Zala (2), Dearka's statement only bolded Yzak's previous statement.

_You have the right to crown yourself the unluckiest man in the universe_, his perfidious mind told him, _merely for being born as the only son of an infamous figure._

He really could not disagree with that.

Sighing, Yzak rose from his seat. "I believe Lacus has more to tell you. I'll see if I can arrange a confidential meeting for you two." He stopped by the door. "As for now, just get that lawyer of yours to conduct a good line of reasoning of your present legal status."

"What's with my status?"

"As an Orb citizen, I mean."

"Yes?"

"What do you mean by 'yes'? You're an Orb citizen. Legally and lawfully. The database on Orb National Refugee and Asylum Center said so."

The sky fell once again on Athrun's head, but this one was more massive than the first.

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Athrun soon learned that his life had brutally deteriorated to the worst possible point. Young informed him of Kira's role in capturing the group responsible for the murder attempt. Seven people were arrested three days after the gunfire, and more were still being hunted. Those seven, together with Kaleeb Jay Nkono, were put in a maximum level watch. From the media, Athrun learned that according to the extradition agreement that Orb had signed with Neo Equator Republic, Orb gained full authority to try the eight men based on Orb's law under the charges of first class illegal tapping, murder of Orb officer Fajjra Ben-Hasib and murder attempt on Orb Head Representative Cagalli Yula Athha.

Young also, humourlessly, told him how enraged Nkono was when the crooked-nose man found out about the arrangement. But Athrun could care less. He did not break his promise to not extradite Nkono back to Neo Equator or try him in a military tribunal, after all.

That being said, he had still been unable to catch a glimpse of Kira at all. Or Cagalli. Or even Dietmar. It was as if the dearest people in his life had suddenly disappeared. Except for Lacus, though. Yzak had fulfilled his promise, and his brief but substantial meeting with Lacus filled the gaps in Young's explanation and the media's cover version.

"_...I've put you in a difficult position, Lacus."_

"_There's no such thing as difficult position, Athrun. I first and foremost am your friend, before I am Lacus Clyne the politician. This nation is progressing in the wrong direction. We will have naught if we move forward by deliberately erasing our history."_

He would never forget how much he owed Lacus.

A week after his release from the hospital, his arm still in a cast, he discovered another unpleasant fact of his nightmare-like life. Dietmar had been taken from his care and was entrusted temporarily to Hathaway. And it happened without his consent, without his ever knowing.

"You are not to see him until we get situation all settled," Young quoted Hathaway as Athrun raged about Dietmar. "And I won't accept your crap about abduction by state because you're _still_ his legal guardian. It's just a temporary set-up."

The last thing that left him livid was that the Athha Mansion kept constantly, unwaveringly and awfully refusing his request to meet Cagalli.

All in all, Athrun had actually learnt more than he had intended. With most newspapers discussing the rumours about him and the glaring, sarcastic graffiti scribbled on the walls of his house, he would be blind to not learn about the present situation.

"Looks like they'll be hard to clean."

He did not need to turn around to see the voice's owner. "Finally have the pity to meet the despondent me now?"

Kira stepped closer and stood a little behind him. "You're not going to come inside?"

"I was told not to return to my house," he said, imagining Kira's immediate frown.

"You're not under house arrest, aren't you?"

"No." Currently, he was staying at the National Domestic Security Affair Office's dormitory—no thanks to Hathaway. Then he added, "Not yet, I think."

Kira touched one messy graffito on the wall, right on the letter 'f', the first letter of that crude four-lettered word. "All they do is ruining such a beautiful house."

"All they do is expressing their anger." He stared at the second graffiti near the front door. 'Scumbag' was sprayed there in bright yellow, bold and furious. "Wish I could do that, too."

Kira was standing beside him now. "Welcome back."

"A little too late for that, aren't you?"

Kira donned a small smile. "The fact that you survived is a welcome fact to me."

"Survived?" He looked at his best friend, disbelief colouring his voice at Kira's choice of words. "Have you ever imagined your life being taken from you? That in a night you learn all you have is gone in an instant? That all you have left is anger and you no longer know yourself?" Kira looked deeply pained, but Athrun believed that his best friend deserved it. "Have you, Kira?"

"I have."

Kira's words hit Athrun equal to a weigh of a thousand bricks, and they fell into a silence. He knew that he was being cruel, but he was in no condition to pity others.

"You realize that you always project anger only onto those close to you, don't you?" Kira's smile was thin and hurt. "No, I don't mean it that way. I know who you are, Athrun, but sometimes I'm tempted to tell you that a man is measured by how he treats the people close to him." Kira inhaled shakily. "I'm sorry you have to know everything the hard way."

"I'm not," he said. "It's better than not knowing anything at all."

Kira heaved a dejected sigh. "Put me in your mercies, partner."

"I want to know _everything_." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't like being the one left behind. You said it yourself; people choose their own destiny. Don't make me live a life that others chose for me again."

"I want to tell you, but I can't. I don't have the right," Kira said. "Though to be honest I don't want you to meet Cagalli yet, you two have a lot to talk about."

"Oh, finally," he countered sarcastically, which won him a disapproving look. Like he cared. "It's time for you to stop playing the protective brother, really."

"I _always_ am a protective brother," Kira retorted, at last giving in to his own irritation. Athrun could see the clear disappointment in his best friend's eyes. "And you know what this protective brother can do if he finds you being a total jerk to his sister ever again."

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It felt like a repetition of the time he was going to have The Talk. The same room, the same setting. The same participants. Only with different topics. A lot of the Athha Mansion's residents were giving him disapproving looks as they saw him waiting outside Cagalli's office. His hands sweaty, he was sure if he waited any longer, he would end up having a severe nervous breakdown. It was only when he started to feel dozy that Kisaka came out to tell him he was now allowed to meet Cagalli.

Cagalli was sitting behind her desk, just like an employer waiting for her wayward subordinate. She was so formal, so distant that Athrun could not read her. "Congratulations on your hospital release," she started the conversation, eyeing his arm in the cast.

"I'll pass the crap, thank you," he said derisively, taking a seat across her. Honestly, he wanted to ask if she had forgiven him for their last fight. That fight was heavily disastrous, he knew, but he did not want it to be the main subject of their talk right now. "Let's be frank. I have loads of questions I think you can answer."

"Please."

"How did I survive the gunfire?"

"I believe Young-san told you, didn't he? An excellent job of the medic staff and a generous blood transfusion from one Dmitrij Feyedorov performed the wonder."

That Young did not tell him. "The conference?"

"Heavily sidetracked by security and my personal wellbeing issues since I was taken to a hidden sanctuary. The location was sterilised for the whole week until all delegation headed off. Lacus and Dmitrij have done a wonderful work of maintaining the focus of the conference. I believe it's all in the media, though I have to admit our press department did a lot of covering over the incident."

"I heard about PLANT's request."

"The Representative Council's still discussing it. And yes," Cagalli raised a hand to stop him as he opened his mouth to interrupt, "I'm fully aware of the current situation. But I'm not Head Representative for nothing. Orb is neither going to surrender to pressure nor trigger a new conflict. Hopefully the Council can issue an official reply next week." Her mouth was pulled into a tight line. "And I hope no factions will use this unfortunate time to make benefit for themselves."

The corners of his eyes twitched. He knew what she meant. "And the rats?"

"Hathaway-san and his men are still investigating, and I have my doubts that the rats are not all related to the current... trend in PLANT, though I'm unable to exactly point at the links yet. So don't think badly of Hathaway-san; I've assigned him an important case myself. As for the rats, we've got seven already. Five are from Neo Equator, two Orb civilians. Make it eight with the man you tortured before."

"It was an interrogation," he countered. "Besides, I'd still prefer drowning one man in order to save another million. (3) You know my principle won't change."

Cagalli was not provoked this time, however. "Still have any questions left?"

"Yes." This was what he had been dying to ask for five years. "Why did you separate Dietmar from me? I know you never like him—"

"I like him just fine."

"—when he's with me. Or around me," he finished. "He was taken from _your_ mansion—apparently one of the safest places during the time I was in the hospital, and I haven't been allowed to meet him ever since. And it's all under Hathaway-san's jurisdiction. His order must have followed yours."

Cagalli relapsed into a long silence, pregnant with careful contemplation and calculated honesty. Finally she said, "It's my way to say 'Go away, Patrick, because you never belong in Athrun' at you."

Never having guessed that kind of answer before, he was caught in genuine surprise.

"Prove it that I am wrong if you can. My eyes see that you're only projecting yourself onto Dietmar. You see yourself in him. You don't want him to feel what you felt back then. You took him with you because you thought that even though he lost his mother, at least he would still have a father—unlike you. You stay by his side because Patrick never did. You don't want to leave him the way Patrick left you. Being the best father will not erase the nightmare, Athrun. Your father will still linger."

"What do you know?" he finally snapped. She was hard and harsh and unfamiliar that he felt estranged. She had crossed the border, and being at the other end of her Socratic method of conversing was the last thing he needed right now.

"I know," she said quietly. "I do know because I used to hate my father. And Kira did, too. Mine is a legend I could never surpass; Kira's is the man who made him a Coordinator."

Cagalli had never spoken of Ullen Hibiki as her father. She did not know him and seemed to not want to know. Athrun believed that she was angry at Hibiki, too, on Kira's behalf. And strict and often appeared indifferent as he was, the late Uzumi would always be her one and only beloved father. She looked up to Uzumi, respecting him as her teacher and leader. But it also made her reluctant to get out of Uzumi's shadow. Athrun noticed it as much as he noticed how she would be much greater leader than she was today had she drawn a line between being Uzumi and being _like_ Uzumi.

"A son is the blueprint of his father, they say." She chuckled, cheerless. "I don't want it to be that way. I don't want Kira to be Ullen Junior or you Patrick Junior."

He looked at her squarely in the eyes. He had had enough with the topic of father-and-son. "You intervened with my civil record."

"Don't tell me I had no reason to," she said.

"Don't avoid the subject."

"You have no right to command me."

"It's not a command. I just want to know." During the seven years he was in Orb, Athrun had never even once released a formal request of asylum to Orb; he simply came as Alex Dino and manipulated his civil record in order to stay in Orb. Yet last week Yzak told him a totally different version of the story, that Athrun Zala had come to Orb as an asylum seeker, was granted a permanent residence, and later changed his name to Alex Dino. Only a few people could access the national database on Orb National Refugee and Asylum Center, and Athrun had a little difficulty to conjure up a few names with certain ability and authority to do so.

Names like Erica Simmons, Rene Hathaway, Kira Yamato and Cagalli Yula Athha. Wonderful.

"I don't need to be protected."

She left her chair, went around the table and stood before him. Now half-sitting on her desk, Cagalli raised her eyebrows. The obvious lack of either anger or irritation grated at Athrun's nerves, and he smothered the urge to squirm under her scrutiny. "You may want to paraphrase that."

"I won't."

"Then there's nothing I may say that you haven't realized before." She folded her arms in front of her chests in an almost challenging manner. "Or is it that you still want something materialised to cling to? Just like you said that time?" (4)

He opened his mouth, ready to counter, but closed it again. He was not Kira, who was satisfied with his long distance relationship and Lacus's companionable silence. He wanted—no—_needed_ proofs. He needed feeling that was said, belief that was declared, claim that was done. He understood Cagalli and knew that Cagalli understood him, but it was not enough. That was why he was better at following and not at taking initiative. That was why he used to believe in Patrick and when war robbed him of that surety, his confidence turned to ashes and all he had believed in was worth nothing. That was why he held onto Dullindal's beautified words though in his heart he knew that it was _Cagalli_ he believed in more. That was why he wanted a factual closure to end his sidestepping and maddening devotion, something that not even The Talk was able to give him.

But she had to understand that she was risking her position, her people's trust, her political career, her everything by doing this. For PLANT had issued another official request yesterday to reclaim him, and it put a lot more pressure on the Representative Council, especially on Cagalli, who had not yet issued an official respond.

"You're going to abuse the people's legitimate trust in you."

She did not reply, but there was a diminutive flicker of hesitancy in her eyes.

"You're going to commit a serious lie."

"I'm not going to stay silent when one of my people acts like a lamb to the slaughter." (5)

He gave a harsh, short laugh. History had taught him to be used to being a lamb, didn't she know? He _was_ a lamb, a black lamb. "The nobility of your words can fool everyone, Cagalli. But not me. You won't do this if it's someone else." He would not let her play favouritism, not at a time like this.

"No, I won't. But you're not someone else."

"I don't care about what happens to me."

"Right, you don't. You never do." A corner of her mouth was pulled up, a miniscule beginning of a humorless smile dawning. But her eyes did not smile. "You know, Athrun, I always have this feeling that someday, someday you'll commit the same mistake of letting yourself be sacrificed. Just like you did in Jachin Due. Just like you did for Meyrin in that GOUF. And will today be that someday? Will it be some other day? No. I will make sure that someday never comes, even if it means I have to step over your rights in deciding your own life."

"I'm not—"

"Not what? Not letting yourself be sacrificed? Not sacrificing yourself? Not playing the altruistic hero? Think that it's better if you die and the rest of humanity lives? Think that it's alright if you're handed over to them and let us here watch as they skin you? Think twice, Athrun. Think twice this time since you always put me in the position where I have to be the one to make the decision."

"Do I?" There was an edge in his voice because he was distressed and furious and so damned hurt. "Let me refresh your mind, then. You left me, Cagalli. I was the one who was abandoned and had to deal with the after-effect of _your_ decision. So don't talk as if I—"

"Whether I left you or not doesn't matter. We're not going to get heated over that," she said dryly. To Athrun, she sounded too tired and hollow. He hoped he was only imagining it. "We're talking about your tendency of playing the martyr. I've told you before; it's not what I want from you."

"All you do is putting me in your debt." He was stupid. Hasty, careless, and stupid. He knew that but could not help it. "If you're trying to make me hate you, congratulations then. You've succeeded."

He had expected a raging burst up of fury. He had expected another slap, because for some reasons receiving a slap hurt more than having a fist landed squarely on his jaw. What he found in Cagalli's eyes left him want to reel and double over in utter shame. Acceptance. Complete, patient and long-suffering acceptance. It made him outright sick to his stomach.

_I want to give you something only I could. I want to protect you, not be protected. If I should give up my life so you could live, I would be glad to. I want to make you happy, but above all I want you to be happy_.

He was wrong. She had long decided to come out of her father's shadow. He saw what he thought as his dreams reflected blatantly in her eyes. What he thought as his lifetime wishes, untold and forever kept to himself, backfired at him in full speed.

She leant forward, bent at the waist, shadowing him still sitting on his chair. Her hands cupping his face, soft fingers found their way on his cheeks, so gentle and poignant and full of raw ache. She was so close to him, eyes closing. Her lips touched the furrow between his eyebrows, quiet and tender, and soon on his forehead, her eyelashes sweeping at his skin. If a slap hurt more than a fist, this very kiss of hers hurt worse than a million and a million slaps. A swan's song before its dying moment. A leaf that danced in the flame.

Then she let go, and he choked up, wordless, breathless. Watching and feeling her smile a thousand needles to him, he felt an ethereal fist clench around his heart. His throat hurt, his chest hurt, and his eyes burnt. He was wrong, and it led him straight to his biggest fear.

He was just so wrong.

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Notes:

(1) Inspired by an offhand comment of John Lennon during his Beatle time when he's interviewed of how he would probably die. Lennon had a scary intuition, I think.

(2) Chapter 4, the conversation where Athrun almost punched Yzak for good.

(3) I remembered watching Bill O'Reilly said something along the line, "I'd prefer drowning a man in order to safe another million," concerning the Guantanamo scandal when he came as a guest in one of Oprah's episodes. I admit I very much detest him, but this is just my personal thought.

(4) from the _Destiny_ episode where Athrun, after being rescued by the Archangel, said to himself that the possible reason why he believed in Dullindal then reenlisted to ZAFT was that he wanted something to cling to.

(5) taken from the title of Road Dahl's short story, _Lamb to the Slaughter_.


	11. Chapter 11: A Trial and His Bitterness

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: as always, not mine.

Notes: let me apologise for the long delay. Let me call FFN a few names for messing up earlier. Let me thank Fledgling for, despite her busy real life, betaing this thoroughly. Let me thank you all for being patient and very supportive, especially those who offered help regarding my problem, because you know you deserve this chapter (and the left two, also). And last, let me ask for review for I so want to know what you think about this chapter—and this fic so far.

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**Chapter 11**

Athrun had just put the telephone back on the receiver when Young opened the door to his room and let himself in.

"Busy?"

"No. Just Dearka calling to tell me he and Yzak are going to visit me tomorrow."

"Good then. C'mere, boss. Drink with me," Young said, haphazardly throwing himself onto one of the chairs in the kitchen.

Young's appearance made Athrun frown. His defender did not look very presentable with his clothes untidy and hair unruly. There was combination of dirt, grease and grass smeared on the lower half of his pants, and he had a bottle of vodka in his hand. And he smelled of _something_ that Athrun was so familiar with.

Athrun's face fell as the realisation hit him.

"Who did you kill?"

Young glanced down at his left arm. A smear of dark, brownish liquid with a metallic reek was there. "Oh." He popped his bottle open, as if uncaring of his surroundings. "Good question." He took a big swig of the vodka, waving a hand to invite Athrun for a glass. "Remember the rat trying to sneak into your room that night in the hospital? Found him. Cornered him. He tried to run away. Technically a resistance, you see. So I shot." Young swept the back of his hand across his mouth and sweaty forehead, his smile cold and misplaced. "He's dead."

"How—"

"Ah!" Young waved his bottle of vodka lightly. "That's exactly the rat's name. Yeah. But now that he's dead, his name doesn't matter anymore, right?" Then he grew sombre, very sombre. "Yeah. Doesn't matter anymore."

Athrun was, in lack for a better word, aghast. So that was why Young was so uptight and did his best not to show that he was seething inside after that night in the hospital. But somehow Athrun had guessed ever since that night, something like this would happen. He just had not known why—and he hated his intuition. Athrun hated that he had finally gotten the answer to his suspicions. But worse still, he did not know how to comfort someone who had just killed his lover.

"Why?"

"That's me, right."

"Will."

Young raised a hand to stop him from questioning any further. "Ne, Athrun," he said, much softer than before, "drink with me?" He rose to take a glass from the nearest cabinet and offered it to Athrun. "I want to forget."

Equally quiet, Athrun took the offered glass. "You know you can't."

"Still." Young poured Athrun his vodka. "I want to. Even if it's just for tonight." He clinked the bottle against Athrun's glass. "Cheers."

It was the bitterest vodka that Athrun had ever had.

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"So here we go again," Dearka drawled. "The Three Musketeers."

Both Yzak and Athrun glared at him.

Dearka shrugged uncaringly. "Like it or not, you guys, we are."

"Three is my unlucky number," Athrun grunted.

"And I don't want to be grouped in the same class with you bastards."

Dearka rolled his eyes. "Because you're superior?"

"Exactly that."

This time, both Dearka and Athrun rolled their eyes.

It was their second meeting since Athrun had been released from the hospital not long ago. Orb had not yet aired anything in response to PLANT's request to reclaim him, and the world was waiting anxiously. All over the world, the Orb Representative Council was being repeatedly criticised for delaying their answer. _What is so hard after all_, they said, _about answering whether or not Orb has one Athrun Zala or not? Is one man's life equal to a nation's millions? Is one fugitive's life equal to Earth's billions?_ From this point of view, it was simply a yes-or-no situation. Orb did not have a reason to delay.

But Athrun knew that Orb's delay was not really the problem. Most of the residents of Earth just feared the possibility of another war. Nobody wanted to have a bipolar world once again.

PLANT was also restless. Many people held demonstrations and marches to support PLANT's Supreme Council's request. _Will we let our military body be so loose about integrity and conduct?_ they said. _Will we ignore the past and let our children watch our mistakes repeat?_ PLANT had to bring Athrun Zala home. For the sake of ZAFT's integrity. For the sake of justice.

If Fate were just playing an irony on him, he would definitely not be the one to laugh.

"Have you talked?" Dearka asked. Then he added quickly, "To Cagalli, I mean. About Orb's answer."

"We talked a little," he admitted. "But she didn't tell me anything about the Council's answer. All I know is that it'll be released at the end of this week."

Yzak was frowning, and it told Athrun that Yzak might have sensed his talk with Cagalli did not go so well. He was glad that Yzak did not ask about it.

_Of course, Zala_, his mind mocked. _To say that your talk 'didn't go so well' will be the understatement of the century_.

_Shut up_, he cursed. _I hate you_.

But his cruel mind went on._ It's actually easy to say, isn't it? The word 'hate.' And not only to me. To her, even. I wonder what—_

_Shut up!_

"Oi, you okay?" Dearka called. "You don't look so well."

"I'm fine." He brushed off his friend's worry. "I'm just... a bit tired."

Dearka looked like he wanted to say something more but stopped himself.

"As for the trial," Athrun said, deciding to steer the conversation back into focus, "Young is wondering who the jurors will call as witnesses against me."

Yzak spoke up, almost annoyed, "You speak as if there will be a trial."

"There will be," Athrun said. "Orb won't risk another conflict much less a war. The damage from the previous two wars is still too vivid in people's minds. The government won't risk their position by playing with such sensitive issues." He did not know why he could sound so calm when it was his life that these politicians were deciding over. "Whether it's run in PLANT or Orb, there _will_ be a trial for me."

"You like you are Alex Dino or Athrun Zala?" Dearka asked.

"I don't know."

Dearka raised a hand and looked around, as if searching for someone who would overhear. "Supposing that you're tried as Athrun Zala, will Orb defend you?"

"At least one person will." He tried to smile, but it ended up bitter. "Will said I would have to decapitate him to stop him from being my defender."

"And no one else?"

"And no one else." He was not surprised. There were more than one Pontius Pilates throughout history.

But to say that it did not hurt would be a lie.

Dearka swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"Well then, Athrun, suppose that you were identified as Athrun Zala of ZAFT, who will you call for as your magistrate?" Dearka asked.

In a military tribunal, summary offences that were decided by the jurors would be dealt by the accused's commanding officer who acted as a magistrate. It meant that Athrun would have to have a magistrate to negotiate with whatever result his trial would give him. The problem was that, considering the fact that his last service in ZAFT was as a member of FAITH, his superior was the Chairperson of PLANT Supreme Council at that time. It meant either his father or Gilbert Dullindal.

Young almost went nuts with the fact that they could not ask dead people to act as a magistrate.

"Oh." Dearka's shoulders slumped. He eyed Yzak carefully, almost as if afraid, which was strange for the Dearka Elthman that Athrun knew. "Can't we voodoo them back or something?"

Athrun threw him a cross look.

"Kidding," Dearka defended himself weakly.

"This is not the time for jokes," Yzak said. "As a ZAFT officer, Athrun Zala's last post before he went missing in action during the First War was with FAITH, under the late Chairman Patrick Zala's authority. Two years after that, he re-enlisted in ZAFT under a patronage and was promoted to FAITH once again, under the late Chairman Gilbert Dullindal's authority."

"What patronage? I've never—Yzak, you—" Athrun did not continue. He did not like this part about a patronage or whatever else, and he did not like the way Yzak spoke as if he was reading a mere report on newspapers.

"I received a letter from the ZAFT Board of Honour. They asked me to give a testimony as a witness against you in the trial." His eyes were serious, far more serious than they were when they stood before Nicol's grave. "But they will not have my testimony." Yzak rose from his seat. "Because I will act as your magistrate."

Shocked, Athrun stared long at Yzak. He was worried at first when Yzak mentioned the letter, but this was not what he expected to hear.

The silver-haired colonel stared back, challenging either Athrun or Dearka to say something before he continued. Athrun knew that if anyone had the guts to challenge Yzak, his former teammate's reply would be more severe. Yzak Jule would not bend once he decided on something—a trait that Athrun admired and resented at the same time. For Yzak to be a magistrate would only mean one thing, Athrun realized.

Yzak would put his military career at stake—for the man whom he always considered an archrival.

"I don't want it."

"Just shut up, Zala," Yzak rebuked sternly. "Do you think you can play selfless hero now? I'm not doing this for you. I just can't let ZAFT crumble. I think you've long understood that shall you fall, you'll drag others down with you."

It sounded like a firm insult—and maybe Yzak really intended it to be one, but Athrun did not care about that right now. "They're going to strip you of your rank." Yzak couldn't have been so stupid as to not realize the risk.

His former teammate only gave a short, harsh laugh. "Strip me of my rank, you say? Who do you think I am?"

Dearka offered Athrun a somewhat easy smile. "What he really means is that no one—I repeat, _no one_—in ZAFT today is as magnificent as him. If they strip the great Colonel Yzak Jule of his rank, who will they get as his replacement? Besides, the ZAFT National Guard is the only office in PLANT nowadays that regularly cooperates with other military bodies in the world. I don't think PLANT will be so stupid as to forgo an office that is so crucial. So the worst thing that they could do to Yzak is postponing his promotion."

"To no limited time," Athrun added.

No one countered that.

"It's not your problem, so don't concern yourself with it." Yzak buttoned his coat up. "Now, if you'll excuse me. Dearka, I'll be waiting in the car. I'm sick with how the people here treat someone who's saved their ass in the past."

He stared at his former teammate's retreating back. First, it was Cagalli. Now, it was Yzak. Twice in less than a week he had been shielded without his knowing. _Shielded_, he thought, seething. _As if all those stunts they pulled off aren't enough_.

Dearka laid a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry," he said, "for not telling you this."

He brushed off Dearka's hand as smoothly as he could. "I told you not to."

Strangely, Dearka did not look offended at all. "We shoulder the same historical burden, Athrun. We all do. And that, I'm positive, is what Yzak really means. Whether it's his mother or your father who led it all to this point, the burden—or I'd rather say _responsibility_—is yours and yours alone to bear." He paused, then said, "Don't act so fucking miserably, pal. I know what I'm going to say isn't helping, but do you really think you're the only one who faces this problem? Fuck, Athrun. You're not the only one. I have to report to the ZAFT Board of Honour every month. Each and every thing I do in the whole month, imagine that. And I know a lot more who do, too. And with this sick hunt-and-kill-the-traitors game, it's just like we're letting ourselves become targets."

"Dearka—"

"Don't tell Yzak I tell you this." Dearka put both hands inside his pockets, sighing. "He doesn't need a postponing of his promotion to tackle him down. With his mother in permanent house arrest and most of the top generals antagonizing him, it's already been done."

He averted his eyes to the window.

"I'm not asking for anything from you, but think about it. We've long chosen this path; we'd be damned if we leave now." His former teammate turned and walked to the door. "We're not the infamous Three Red Musketeers for nothing, are we?"

"Dearka."

"Yeah?"

"You should think of a new career." He smiled, thinly. But it was a real smile nevertheless. "An official translator of Yzakish language, perhaps? Doesn't sound too bad, I think."

"No, thanks." Dearka chuckled, though he did not turn around. And Athrun had to admit that it felt really, really good to hear someone laugh near him. "Unlike you, I'm not that obsessed with the idea of dedicating my ass off for someone, you know."

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Of all the places he could be, he was sitting in a pub when the most awaited answer on Earth was aired.

He had only wanted to know about the situation with the impatient public, curious about the rumours and opinions regarding the potential threat Orb faced once again. He really did not expect to be among the commoners, who discussed the whereabouts of Athrun Zala and what connection he might have with Orb with alcoholic beverages on their hands.

All heads turned to the single television unit above the bartender's head. The program was a bit troubled since the weather was not so good that day, but it was, unmistakably, Cagalli's voice and face that appeared on the screen.

"Oi, oi, isn't that Cagalli-sama?"

"The Head's going to give the answer?"

"She definitely is!"

"Cagalli-sama!"

"Oi, bartender, can you get this program any better?"

"Sorry, dude, that's all you'll get in this weather!"

An old man bumped against Athrun's shoulder as Cagalli announced her greeting. He looked behind, but a protest that was already on the tip of his tongue died immediately. The old man was blind. So he turned his attention back to the television.

It was only a week, but it felt like he had not met her for a long, long time. Fingers curling, his hand soon clutched hard around the end of his coat.

The Cagalli on the screen wore her white uniform. Her uniform lacked stripes on the shoulders and medallions on the chest. The yellow rope that was usually present on the joint of her left arm was also absent. He did not remember when, but it seemed that they had long been gone from Cagalli's uniform. It was not a military uniform.

It was the uniform of a civil leader.

It made him frown. He was one of the closest officers around her. Why did he only realize now?

"...We will not attack another nation. We will not allow another nation to attack us. And we will not intervene in the conflicts of other nations. These will always remain our ideals, guide to our actions. We will not go back to change our ideals, and we will hold on to them."

Her voice wavered with the bad line, but Athrun remembered the lines well. It was the core of the Orb spirit, breastfed not with mother's milk but with millions of lives. Ever since his first visit to Orb, he had wondered about this and had always wanted to ask the late Uzumi about it. Whether it was worthy to be traded with so many lives. Whether it was worth all the damage that the nation suffered. Whether it was more precious than his daughter's personal happiness.

_I don't have a private life, Athrun_, Cagalli once told him. _With my father gone, I give up my private life. I have to—no. I _choose_ to._

That was the first time he was angry at Orb. At the late Uzumi. At the Orb people. At each and every single person who made Cagalli shoulder the weight of the spirit on her own.

And at himself, for not being able to do anything to relieve her from the burden.

"...Even a successful war will not make the world snap out of a deep and widening mistrust."

And this was what she was trying to protect: a world that had not snapped out of a deep and widening mistrust. This was who she was trying to convince: a collective group of people who lulled themselves into a deep and widening mistrust.

"...The point is to scare our enemies, not terrify the rest of the world."

He remembered Feyedorov's words. Power respected power. Orb was small but powerful, alone but independent. Orb was one of a few nations who welcomed those who came, regardless of their genes as long as they obeyed the law and embraced the spirit. The Blue Cosmos and the Atlantic Federation used to spat at Orb as a friend to the Coordinators, advocate of sin and warrior of selfishness. PLANT, too, once labelled Orb as a two-faced traitor to world peace because some Orb parties had been helping the Earth Alliances and its re-embodiment, the Earth Federation.

And still, Cagalli sent Orb troops to MESSIAH, knowing that the troops were outnumbered, for the sake of those people, too.

"...We do not want a world in which we get our way by twisting arms, paying bribes, allying with dictators."

The blind old man, now beside Athrun, reached and took Athrun's tumbler instead of his own. He gulped down the rest of Athrun's beer. He seemed to need help swallowing when a lump materialized in his throat upon hearing Cagalli's words. He did not even tell Athrun anything, but Athrun let him do so.

"...We will act based not on strength but on the faith that the power is legitimate."

The blind old man clapped him on the back. "You're new here?"

A middle-aged woman next to the old man eyed Athrun's cast. "Off duty, soldier?"

"Yes." They did not have to know who he was. A small lie using the help from old-fashioned eyeglasses and a worn-out coat would not hurt.

The blind old man grinned toothily at Athrun. He gestured at the television. "Great, isn't she? Our leader."

"She's going to be alright," the middle-aged woman piped in. "Orb's going to be alright."

"This is a strong nation," another man said. "If ZAFT's going to fuck with us, we'll kick 'em hard in the ass!"

"And the same counts for Earth Allia-Federat—or whatever name it is!"

The blind old man clasped Athrun's shoulder. "When you're healed, go around. See for yourself how strong Orb is. Not in the weaponry sense, of course. We're not going to be broken." He grinned again. "You still have a long life ahead, young man. C'mon. Enjoy life."

"One free glass for everyone!" roared the bartender. "It's a toast to freedom, my dear customers! To dignity! To Cagalli-sama!"

"To Orb!"

Kira once told him how Cagalli was heartbroken because she believed that no one heard her voice. _No one listens to a sixteen-year old girl with only an inheritance to keep her in the office_, she told her brother five years ago. Because of that, she felt responsible for the many unnecessary deaths like Captain Todaka's and the rest of his fleet's. Because of that, she took everything that happened in the two wars into her heart. Because of that, she took into herself the ideal of her late father and shaped herself into Uzumi. _That's why,_ she once said, _I borrow my father's voice to voice mine out to the world_.

But it was different now. Now, she was not merely Uzumi Nara Athha's daughter.

He looked at the television. So strong, brave and beautiful. So big her figure to him was. Beautiful. Beautiful Cagalli.

_You are heard, Cagalli. They listen to you_.

Even his anger and the knowledge that his life had been decided could not stop him from raising his now refilled tumbler high. The bartender, laughing, promised to refill his tumbler again if he could finish his beer in a gulp. The middle-aged woman behind him patted him gently on the arm, wishing him a get-well-soon. Feeling the rising arm, the blind old man beside him smiled a proud smile of a civilian proud of his leader.

"To Orb," Athrun whispered. "To Cagalli."

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"—will not interfere with the tribunal process, just as our citizens will not bend to any injustice or alarming threats to peace. Orb is a friend to everyone. Orb offers the same objective of peace to all. Whether you are former soldiers or troubadours, Orb welcomes you. Therefore, with this, I, as the Head Representative of Orb Supreme Council, officially welcome the new members of our Orb family. I hope we will—"

"PLANT Representative Azalea Dahl Jule called Orb Head Representative Cagalli Yula Athha's announcement as an imprudent decision in this time of prob—"

"—er riots occurred in the eastern region of Neo Equator following the Orb trial for eight terrorists charged with murder and murder attempt—"

He turned off his television. Three days had passed since Cagalli's announcement that the Orb government would "cooperate in the International War Tribunal," and most televisions on were still airing the announcement. At the same time, Orb promised that no Orb civilians would be tried in an "unjust and prejudiced court." In other words, Orb would only have The International War Tribunal if it was held in a neutral nation. A very clever move, Athrun had to admit. While at one point Orb was successful in avoiding an unnecessary political strain with others, Orb was also able to maintain its dignity and sovereignty.

On the other hand, Orb's answer meant that he would truly have to face this trial, whether he was ready or not.

And then, Athrun saw Hathaway standing in the doorway, eyebrows raised.

"What happened to this room?" Hathaway asked. He examined carefully at Athrun's face just to add, "And to your face?"

"This?" He rubbed his stubble-covered chin. He had not realized he was unshaved until Hathaway mentioned it, actually. "I haven't shaved in three days."

"And this room?"

Athrun's eyes wandered around the room. Papers were scattered everywhere—printed documents and handwritten notes, marked maps and memos. His room was a lot messier than a control room during an operation, and even his state was not helping. Stubbles were only one of other obvious evidences.

Hathaway closed the door and sat on the sofa. He looked at a diagram. "Berlin, Moscow, Singapore, Port Moresby, Carpentaria," he read. "You're investigating on your own."

"There are a few things I couldn't help noticing." He faced his notebook computer again. "The day I was in Neo Equator on that rescue mission, there was a cell going after our group. No matter what kind of smart-asses they are, they wouldn't have been able to track us down without enhanced equipment." He pointed his chin at a marked map tacked to the cap of a night lamp. "ZAFT has three bases close to Neo Equator. Singapore, Port Moresby and Carpentaria. Considering ZAFT's insistence on dragging me back, I would think that they're assisting the terrorist group, wouldn't I?"

"It is a serious accusation," Hathaway said.

"It is." He pulled a sheet of paper from a growing stack near him. "This group is real, though they're a bit different from the original Blue Cosmos. Instead of going directly after the Coordinators, they go after the people who are affiliated with the Coordinators. The man who tried to gun down Her Excellency shouted 'traitor' when he shot."

"And it cost you that," Hathaway muttered, eyeing his cast. "And young Ben-Hasib."

He forced himself not to flinch at the name. Even now he could not forget Fajjra Ben-Hasib's blood-stained face and lifeless eyes. Another death he could not forget. "So there are two opposites. One, there's ZAFT and the insistence of PLANT's top politicians to hold a military tribunal for ZAFT deserters." Again, he forced himself not to flinch. He had never thought that he would accept the label 'deserter' on himself. "Two, there are paramilitary groups, or at least radical groups, one of which we know well, who play a cat-and-mouse game with the Coordinators. What are the chances of ZAFT working hand-in-hand with a group who literally embraces the Blue Cosmos' belief and hunts down the Coordinators? Imagine the Pope working with Jehovah's Witnesses. However, calling the fact that these two both chose the World Peace Conference as their stage a coincidence sounds laughable to me."

"So that's why you transformed this room into a mess."

"And came to that conclusion," he added.

"And came to that conclusion," Hathaway agreed. If anything, the thin smile he sported belied Athrun's expectation of an antagonism. "Sharp as always, aren't you?"

Athrun did not want to prize Hathaway's praise, if it really was praise.

"But, Athrun," Hathaway said his real name—and it sounded almost odd to Athrun's ears, being used to hearing 'Alex Dino' from Hathaway's mouth, "postulating a conspiracy theory will not help you much in the trial."

"I don't do this for the trial. I just want to know." He let go of his notebook and turned to face Hathaway. There was a glimpse of Patrick that he could not help but anticipate in Hathaway. He liked this man, and he did not want another betrayal by someone he liked. _Just like what Father did to me_, he thought. _Cagalli was right_. "You're in on the grand scheme, too, aren't you, Hathaway-san?"

Hathaway waited.

"You said I'm the youngest deputy you've ever had in the office. It's not only because of my accomplishments, is it? You placed Young as my secretary, because, aside from my suspicions that he's also playing a part in this spy game, a law graduate will know what to do in case I get myself a lawsuit. After that murder attempt, I was placed in this dorm under your order. You said that it was for my own safety. The truth is, Hathaway-san, it's easier to monitor me when I'm in your area." He stood from his chair and walked to a cabinet near the window, pulling a drawer open and reaching inside. He threw them onto the low table before Hathaway. "I found them. Inside the buttons of my coats. Inside the seams of my shirts. Inside the soles of my shoes. Even under the carpets of my cars and in Dietmar's duckling."

It was a plastic container. Inside glistened handfuls of the newest micro transmitter that Erica Simmons developed in the Scientific Research and Manufacturing Office of Orb.

He was a pawn. As always. His father's, Le Kleuze's, Dullindal's. And now, perhaps, Hathaway's—or more correctly, Cagalli's.

It hurt.

"You were told not to return to your house," Hathaway said finally, eyes on the transmitters.

"I'm already accused; what difference will one more charge do to me?" he challenged defiantly. "Who the hell is Heinrich Ottmar Walter?"

"There's still—"

"Walter's whereabouts in the Scientific Research Office explained the tapping happened to me, but not Nkono's being in the same office. And definitely not the murder attempt on Her Excellency."

"We're conducting—"

"Answer me!"

Hathaway sighed, defeated. "We're still running an investigation on him. Will was the first to realize, and I have to praise him for that. Maybe he realized after that intrusion on you that night. That's why he chose to handle things his way," the old colonel said solemnly. "Tell him I'm sorry."

"You tell him yourself."

Sighing softly, Hathaway took the plastic container and placed it in his coat pocket. "If you've already figured this... grand scheme out, why are you telling me?"

He looked at a stack of notes near his notebook. On them were names of suspicious people whom he suspected to be on the so-called grand scheme of string-and-spy-poor-Athrun-Zala. "To be honest, I don't know if I can trust you now. Or anyone." Maybe deep down he just wanted Hathaway to deny that the old colonel was not involved in the scheme. Maybe he just wanted a small proof that the world was not only about betrayal and abandonment.

"That you don't." Hathaway stood. "You never trust anyone. Ever."

If it was intended to upset him, it failed. What Hathaway said was the truth; Athrun would not be infuriated more than he already was. He slipped into a formal posture. "Asking a permission to submit a resignation, sir," he said. "You will receive my formal resignation letter by tomorrow."

Hathaway took a very, very long time to respond. He suddenly looked very tired, very aged. "Very well then. Permission granted, Third Senior Deputy Alex Dino. I will be waiting for your letter."

He called Hathaway as the old colonel opened the door, his last question. "Is someone behind the reason why you do all of these?"

"Part of it, yes, that's why." Hathaway halted. "And my answer is no for the other part. Like you said, it's easier to monitor you when I'm sure of your whereabouts. But people don't do something just because of one sole reason." The hand on the door's handle pulled the door open wider.

Athrun was still rooted in his place when Hathaway's last words reached him.

"And I don't do all of this just because someone doesn't want you to leave."

0+0+0+0+0

The first month of the International War Tribunal was spent in a series of preparations of hearing sessions. The hearings would be held in many places, either in PLANT or on Earth, but Zurich was chosen as headquarter for the working jurors. A lot of former ZAFT officers were remanded from every part of Earth. Most of them deserters, and the rest were officers who had disappeared under MIA status. '_An international show of how hegemonic power ridicules the commoners_,' a left wing magazine in Paris wrote in response to the announcement of the accused's names. '_Come, sting and fly_,' a pro-ZAFT newspaper in PLANT put on the headline.

For the first time, PLANT and Earth seemed to get along, as Dmitrij Feyedorov said, "to apologise for the wrongdoings of the past, reconcile and build the world anew in a wise and peaceful manner." _We're sacrificed for the greater good of the universe_, a deserter who was currently having a job as a high school teacher in St. Petersburg said defiantly. _For peace and unity, once and for all_.

People were waiting for a statement from Cagalli, especially after the information about her relationships with the two infamous pilots Athrun Zala and Kira Yamato were leaked, but she neither denied nor acknowledged the issues. She refused to comment on the tribunal process until the tribunal finished its duty. Some parties in Orb, mainly from the House of Sahaku and Seiran, were using this to attack her policy and administration. They demanded numbers of her assistants to resign from their posts due to, as current head of the House of Seiran Minato Juno Seiran stated, "an unnecessary blemish on Orb's sovereignty."

Former Head Representative Homura Athha was reported to say that this was "an era of _vivere peri colosso_ for humanity." He said that the tribunal would also be a test for PLANT and Earth whether they would be able to make a peace with the past.

To Athrun, who was constantly living in danger, _vivere peri colosso_ did not really mean anything. It just meant a change in situation: from facing danger secretly to facing danger openly.

Young came one day with a long list of names. They were the names of the people who were going to be called in the hearings as witnesses. There were almost fifty names for each accused, and Athrun could imagine a hysterical rat running in Young's head.

"How many do you know?" his defender asked.

"Lots," Athrun answered.

Young groaned wearily. "This isn't going to be nice. Let's presume that nine out of ten witnesses will turn out to be a benefit for your adversary. How can we turn the one remaining witness to _your_ benefit? Even with the honesty, evidence and intimidation factor put together, it's likely impossible that we can." He massaged his temple.

"Beat the other nine and leave that benefiting one alive?"

"How brilliant of you, Athrun."

"Well, that way, my charge will be added with intentional homicides, and I won't have to worry about the sentences—because there will only be one sentence, certainly."

"Because you couldn't stop for Death?" Young quipped one of Emily Dickinson's famous lines.

"Right. I couldn't. He kindly stopped for me." He knew well that on the other side of living dangerously, Death was waiting. It was wonderful to have a friend in a journey, but if it was a journey to meet Death, he would prefer not dragging a friend down with him. It was time. "It's enough, Will."

"Enough? Of what?" Then Young began to comprehend. "I've told you, Athrun," he hissed out angrily. "I'm not going to quit. You can't stop me."

"Nowadays, only less sane people will want to associate themselves with me." He looked at his defender square in the eyes. "Then give me a reason, Will. _One_ reason."

Young, his ever loyal secretary, the only one who stayed with him throughout this bold humiliation, looked defeated, as if there was no more escape for him. He had kept his reason to himself for too long, and Athrun could not tolerate any longer. Young would better not be a suicidal altruist. Athrun would not let him, or anyone, to accompany him in his descend.

Half staggering, Young reached and sat on a chair, face definitely troubled. There it was. "About seven years ago," he began, "I can't remember exactly how, I don't know, my family—they were there when ZAFT attacked Panama. It was supposed to be a vacation, but—well—you see, I'm the only survivor of my family." Young smiled a thin, pained smile. "Then someone called Malkio took me to his orphanage. At that time, the world was simply a matter of black and white for me. ZAFT, evil; the rest, good." He shook his head sadly, as if offering an apology to Athrun. "Well, with that in mind, imagine my shock when suddenly one day, one ZAFT soldier landed near the orphanage. 'The demon has come to get me,' I thought. And of all things, Malkio-san invited him to the orphanage. I did have my hatred, but my fear got the better of me, so a friend of mine, I forgot who, came to that bastard and hit him for me. Just once. A kick in the shin. And then we ran. That soldier didn't even hit back. He even looked—well—sad, though I can't really remember that soldier's face well due to my fear. I once found him starring at the sea, at Orb across the sea, wondering, maybe hoping—I'm not so sure about that. Looking at place he couldn't come to, people he couldn't meet, perhaps. But he didn't look like a demon at all."

Athrun's mouth hung open in disbelief. He knew exactly who 'the bastard ZAFT soldier' in Young's story was.

"Later, I asked Malkio-san why the hell he came. 'Did he come to destroy Orb, too? Did he come to kill us?' I—uh—didn't remember the precise words, but Malkio-san said that soldier didn't come to destroy. Nor did he come in peace." Young had a faraway look on his face by now. "'That soldier came in sadness,' Malkio-san said. "'In bewilderment. In uncertainty. With only a small hope he can't let go even if he wants to.' Young let out a soft laugh, shrugging. "Stupid, isn't it? At that time, I didn't understand what Malkio-san meant. And I still don't now. Instead of getting over my hatred and fear, I got this guilt. I didn't think of ZAFT soldiers as fellow humans. They're monsters who simply existed to kill and destroy. That soldier proved me wrong. How can a demon be sad, after all? Demons know no sadness."

But it was natural, Athrun wanted to say. When his mother died, even he thought that the Naturals were the merchants of death. It was not a problem of genetic superiority to him; it was that he thought that the Naturals were evil and the Coordinators were good. Traumatic remembrance, a well-known psychiatrist in PLANT said. First impression always mattered the most, and so did his first impression of those who were simply _different_ from him.

But—all these things—Young's story—he swallowed tightly. What irony Fate played on him in this small, small world.

"So I want to believe—no—I _do_ believe that such demons don't exist. We create our own demons. And it can be anyone, anything." Young sighed, then inhaled before continuing. "We create our own demons so that we have a reason to avoid facing our fear."

Athrun could feel his chests tightening as word by word marked itself known.

"And I don't want that. I can and will count my own demons. And I will stand. Because, after all," Young straightened his posture, looking at Athrun, determination in his eyes, "I'm alive, aren't I?"

He lost his words.

Then Young, suddenly, found the moment to end his surprise and look sheepish. Cheeks mildly flushing, he smiled, embarrassed. "Forget it," he said, waving his hand. "It's a stupid story, really. I guess it doesn't count as a reason, does it? So forget it. I'm probably using you to atone for what I did to that soldier. Whatever, whatever. But you still can't make me quit." Then he added, weak, "Please."

"No, it's not stupid." Athrun whispered hoarsely when he finally found his voice back. "Not at all." Young did not have to know that he was the soldier in Young's memory. He would always remember that boy in the green shirt from now on, this man. So he did what he never thought that he would. He bowed his head. "Thank you, Will."

Surprised, Young blinked at Athrun's bowed head, not anticipating this at all. "You should be angry, you know," he muttered, but he was starting to smile, finally. "And I would've hit you if you had said 'sorry.'

0+0+0+0+0

"'The following tape recordings of the First and Second Hearing Session are the legal property of The International War Tribunal. Not public material. Prohibited to publish or copy in any form. Borrowed by William Herbert Young,' Young read in bored tone. "Here we go."

_Date: September 4, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Athrun Zala_

_Present Occupation: -_

_Prosecutor: Hart Rajamalela, Rikard Weller Caird, Neftali Basoalto_

On the tape, Athrun was sitting before a table where three prosecutors were located. They told him that it was only a hearing; they just wanted to ask him some questions to confirm his data. He seemed to bear in his mind that it was only the beginning. He should not have been surprised if they were trying to get to him and corner him.

"Athrun Zala, son to Patrick and Lenore Zala?"

"Yes."

"Grandson to Athrun Dan Zala?"

"Yes."

"Your father and grandfather were former chairmen of PLANT Supreme Council. Did that fact affect your view on ZAFT's role in PLANT and in the world?"

He took a rather deep breath. "Athrun Dan Zala founded the foundation for PLANT as a nation and state. Patrick Zala continued Athrun Dan's work but ended up in the wrong way objectively. I, as a part of PLANT, inherit their dreams of a better PLANT, in particular Athrun Dan's dream of a better future in which people could live alongside each other regardless of their genetic codes, races or beliefs."

"You said Patrick Zala ended up wrong."

"Objectively yes."

"And did this have anything to do with your decision to enlist in ZAFT?"

Athrun glanced down at his watch. He still had more than two hours to endure. "No."

"With your re-enlistment, then?"

"No."

"Please explain."

He schooled his expression as an old pain seeped out. "I enlisted in ZAFT because my mother died in the Bloody Valentine, and I didn't want anyone to have to feel like I did back then. I didn't—don't want a repetition of the Bloody Valentine." He paused. "I re-enlisted two years later because I thought it was the right thing to do."

"Did the late PLANT Chairman Gilbert Dullindal play a role in assigning you in FAITH?"

"Yes."

"Did he have any reason to?"

Athrun could saw the beginning of a scowl on Young's face. _Don't answer_, his defender mouthed. It was a baiting question. But Athrun wanted to. These people would get what they wanted, but it would not be enough to bring him down. "If he did, I wouldn't have known until the Destiny Plan was revealed, thanks to Ms. Clyne." He shifted a little in his seat. "And if that's my crime, so be it."

"Did you really feel that you must stop the late Dullindal from executing the Destiny Plan?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it was my duty." Athrun could not help being amazed that he could be so collected, his voice not even wavering. "Chairman Dullindal said so himself, when I was entrusted with Saviour. It was my duty to correct should ZAFT—or rather, _PLANT_—take the wrong path."

"Did you really believe you have the power to do the correcting?"

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to calm himself before answering. "No, I didn't."

Young knocked his own temple with his pen, groaning slightly. Athrun knew, perfectly knew that his last answer was the opening that the prosecutors were waiting for, and it would be harder for Young to defend him in that stand. Yet he could not allow himself to lie.

"Very well, Zala-san. Now we'll move on to the next questions."

The questions went on and on.

0+0+0+0+0

_Date: September 8, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Shinn Asuka_

_Present Occupation: ZAFT National Guard, PLANT_

_Prosecutor: Urs Moriah, Genaro Cambiasso, Ethelbert Zeman_

"He's a bastard, an honest bastard."

Young grinned at Athrun as they watched the scowling Shinn in the record. "Very bold, isn't he?"

Athrun shrugged. Shinn was who he always was. He appeared to stand neither on Athrun's side or against him, but his choice of words, foul as it was, was meant to ridicule and throw back the questions that the prosecutors had asked him.

"Did Athrun Zala ever misjudge the situation on battlefields?" a prosecutor asked.

"No acting commander is flawless," Shinn replied.

"You and Athrun Zala were reported to be involved in two slapping incidents."

"We were. Well, General Patton was, too. Guess it runs in the blood of great soldiers?"

Young could not hold his laughter anymore, and laugh merrily he did.

0+0+0+0+0

_Date: September 10, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Lunamaria Hawke_

_Present Occupation: ZAFT National Guard, Secretary to Lacus Clyne, PLANT_

_Prosecutor: Urs Moriah, Genaro Cambiasso, Ethelbert Zeman_

Lunamaria was so composed. It was like watching a spokesperson of Lacus Clyne in uniform. She held on to her words that she would follow Athrun, even more boldly than Shinn. She steered all questions designed to bait her, such as one that tried to make her say something that would corner Athrun, to question the morality of the tribunal. A fair and just tribunal for those who deserve no less, she said.

"What's the problem with you ZAFT guys?" Young asked, amused. Of course he was; so far the witnesses were, surprisingly, standing for Athrun's benefit. His question, too, came from watching Athrun's former subordinates playing protector. "Where does your loyalty lie, really?"

"In honour," he replied softly.

0+0+0+0+0

_Date: September 13, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Arthur Trine_

_Present Occupation: ZAFT Tactical Commando Enforcement, PLANT_

_Prosecutor: Urs Moriah, Genaro Cambiasso_

"When was your last contact with Athrun Zala?"

Major Arthur Trine did not look different at all. He still fidgeted much and appeared somehow nervous. "Just not so long after MESSIAH fell. He contacted me through a private line, saying he had Shinn Asuka and Lunamaria Hawke and was going to hand them over."

"Has Athrun Zala ever abused his authority as a member of FAITH?"

"I didn't know. And if he had, I'd never noticed."

"Athrun Zala was reported to have vehement opposition to Shinn Asuka's ideas to bring down Freedom. Did you know why?"

"I heard that he once had an acquaintance with the Archangel, the ship where Freedom harboured. I guess Athrun Zala wanted to solve things civilly. Or at least that's what the captain believed. But it's not my place to question FAITH members."

"Did Athrun Zala benefit the Minerva?"

"Well, yes. Mostly. Without him, we would've been hit since the first time we took off due to the Phantom Pain's attack."

"Has Athrun Zala's hesitation to bring down Freedom interfered with the Minerva's hierarchical coordination?"

"Once or twice, yes, considering one situation where we were surrounded by the Earth Alliance."

Athrun could not blame him for being objective.

0+0+0+0+0

_Date: September 21, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Meyrin Hawke_

_Present Occupation: Emerich School of Excellence, Orb_

_Prosecutor: Ethelbert Zeman, Winifred Dudek_

Athrun was most anxious when it came to Meyrin's hearing. She was one of the few people closest to him after the Second War, and she had even stayed with him during his first few post-war months in Orb. She was like an obligation to him ever since that fateful day he owed her his life, a little sister who was there when he woke up with a start because of a nightmare and did not find Cagalli beside him.

She should not be there, he thought. She should not be taken back to PLANT and cut off from her job and from this Earth nation she had grown to love. _He_ put her there; that was how he repaid her for saving his life.

"Did Athrun Zala make use of force to make you stay in Orb?"

"No, he didn't."

"Did Athrun Zala have anything to do with your asking a formal release from ZAFT?"

"My request was solely my responsibility."

Athrun could see a beginning of a frown between Meyrin's brows. She, too, could grasp what this hearing was all about.

"Did you feel indebted to Athrun Zala?"

"Humans owe each other."

"Do you have any reason to cover for Athrun Zala during the late Chairman Gilbert Dullindal's pursuit of Athrun Zala and after that?"

"He's someone I couldn't let be killed," Meyrin answered after a long silence.

Athrun had long known Meyrin's feeling for him, but it did not prevent him from being surprised. He did not think that she would it say so boldly to the prosecutors' face.

"And because someone asked me to take care of him."

0+0+0+0+0

_Date: September 30, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Lacus Clyne_

_Present Occupation: Diplomatic Committee, PLANT Supreme Council, PLANT_

_Prosecutor: Ethelbert Zeman, Winifred Dudek_

Lacus's hearing had the world's attention. Most mass media put coverage of her hearing the day after the hearing was done. It was understandable; she was one of the key players in both the First and Second War. Also, she was Athrun Zala's former fiancée and daughter to a moderate leader who opposed and was murdered by her former fiancé's father. In the eyes of the world, there was no one else who was more related to Athrun Zala than Lacus Clyne.

"You have admitted to stealing ZAFT's mobile suits twice. The first was Freedom, later Strike Freedom and Infinite Justice."

"I was no thief. I just gave the Eternal to the right hands. Freedom and Justice just came along with the packet."

Lacus, always the perfect master of self-discipline, of course, Athrun had to admit. No one was better than her in being calm even in the tightest situation.

"Was Athrun Zala one of those right hands?"

"In one way or another, yes."

"In what way?"

"He helped to stop the war. Twice. That's a proof enough."

"If you were given a second chance, would you still give Freedom and Justice to them?"

There was fierce strength in her eyes, accompanied by confidence and cool calmness, Athrun noted.

"An if-question is hardly fair, honoured prosecutors. But if I really have a second chance, yes, I will. I will still do it to either Athrun Zala or Kira Yamato."

0+0+0+0+0

In front of them were scattered papers, notes and video tapes. They had spent two days to finish watching and taking notes of the whole set of the first hearing session. Athrun had to watch people, most of them familiar, gave testimony about him. Some made him smile at old memories, but some of them made him want to release his anger and hurt something or someone.

Young sipped his coffee. Coffee was good; coffee was an all-nighter's best friend. He blamed Athrun for introducing him to coffee. "They gave me all the transcriptions from the hearings and I'm grateful for that, but I still wondered how we'll overcome the prejudices, knowing that this trial is already set up to bring you down from the very beginning."

He nodded, merely because he did not know how to respond.

"Your second hearing's been scheduled. Next month. And also Hathaway-san's and Her Excellency's." He snorted. "Didn't know they could have her in this."

"She agreed to it," he said dully.

"Did she?" Young looked skeptical. "She's so calculative, almost cautious about this whole tribunal. I wonder what more she has beneath her sleeves."

He shrugged. Even he did not know of that. _And had given up wanting to know_, his mind supplied unnecessarily.

"Oh, Hathaway-san called last night. Say, Athrun, don't you want to see how much your little monster has grown up?"

His eyes widened. Mouth suddenly dry, he asked, almost trembling, "Where?"

Young gave him a knowing smile. "Simmons-san's house. Tonight. 8 PM."

0+0+0+0+0

Either it was because he was really a softie in heart or because he was just too eager to see his boy, he arrived long before the arranged time. Erica Simmons was firm to not allow him break the rule. It was, after all, Hathaway's responsibility.

"Here."

He looked at the black folder in Erica's hand and then at her before taking the folder from her. "Qualified information?"

"Read and destroy," she said. "Well, consider it a fruitful way to kill off two hours." She looked at her wrist watch. It read 5.50 PM. She smiled at him. "Hathaway-san's right. You won't think twice when it comes to Dietmar."

"If needed, a man will run for his life," he said softly, twisting the logic of the saying. "Dietmar is the only life left for me."

She patted him on a shoulder. "I can understand the sentiment." Then she left, still smiling. A mother's smile.

He read—and braced himself for whatever might be revealed.

Heinrich Ottmar Walter was a former ZAFT officer. Specialized in tactical commando, his last duty post was in MESSIAH. He was one of those who survived MESSIAH. In one of several diaries found in his apartment two days after his death, Walter wrote that he witnessed Justice and Freedom escaping MESSIAH before it exploded from within. Because of the explosion, he suffered third-degree burns and spent almost a year to fully recover from the wound. Afterward, he asked for an early discharge from ZAFT and submitted a request for citizenship to Orb.

And that was the beginning of his revenge, Athrun thought.

Walter's diaries did not tell much about his thoughts on ZAFT's defeat in both GENESIS and MESSIAH or his past, but there was a fully protected folder, guarded with multiple passwords and multilayered security systems in his home computer. Being one of the finest engineers in the Scientific Research and Manufacturing Office of Orb, Walter designed the folder to disappear as soon as Hathaway's investigation team was able to unlock it. The screen only had one single line ten seconds before it went blank, corrupted by Walter's self-destruct mechanism.

_By the time you read this, I will have been long dead for ZAFT, for PLANT, for the Coordinators._

Overcome by what he had just read, Athrun slumped further into the sofa. He did not even realize that his hand was shaking when he threw the folder into the fireplace.

So this was one of the people who believed that ZAFT deserters deserved a payback, a merciless and severe payback. This was a man who would do anything to have his revenge. Walter's relationship with Young might have been a fallacious relationship from the very beginning, and it was greatly possible that Walter took advantage of Young's working for Athrun. Somehow, such thought made Athrun's burden feel a little bit less heavy. Young killed a man who exploited him; what injustice would be charge upon him?

Yet it did not mean that it would prevent a pain to bloom, the pain of knowing that one was betrayed by the person one trusted the most. Such pain would never recover. Just like he believed; humans simply did not heal. (1)

All of a sudden, a familiar weight stumbled upon him from behind and a pair of small arms circled his neck, effectively stopping the running wheels in his brain.

"You came, Athrun!" Dietmar cried. "Why so long? You promised!"

He pulled the boy to sit beside him on the sofa before hugging back as tightly, watchful of his arm. "Sorry," he whispered against Dietmar's hair. He wanted to crush the boy into him, taking comfort no matter how small it was, allowing himself to be greedy for a moment. Yet all he could say—and repeat—was, "Sorry."

Holding himself back not to cry, Dietmar's fists pounded onto his chests. "They took me from the mansion. I didn't know what to do. You—the television said you were shot, but they didn't let me see you in the hospital. They said you'll come. But you—"

"Ssh. It's alright, see? I'm alright."

Dietmar pulled back to regard him fully, as if checking his wellbeing. A tentative hand rose to touch his cast. "It hurts?"

He shook his head, smiling a little to assure Dietmar. "Not anymore."

"Why did that bad guy shoot you?" Then Dietmar's eyes grew very wide. "He hates your name?"

"I don't know." It was the truth. The man who shot him was confirmed as a Neo-Equator native, member of Kaleeb Jay Nkono's group. He still could not make a connection to link Nkono and co. with Walter and co.

"...I'm so afraid," Dietmar whispered, bringing himself close to Athrun again. "This is scary."

"Me too," he admitted past the lump in his throat. He was afraid not only for Dietmar's life, but also for many other lives that he might drag down with him.

"Will they take you back to PLANT?"

The question made him snap, fierce and horrified. No, he wanted to say, but he could not say the word aloud. Even he himself had no surety of anything nowadays.

"Will they?" Dietmar pressed on, hesitantly, fearfully.

Instead of answering, he pulled the boy back into a fierce hug. _Please don't ask_, he prayed silently because he did not have any answer for that.

Maybe it was the day's fatigue that made Dietmar unable to stay awake for too long. Soon he was sleeping on Athrun, his head on Athrun's shoulder. Or maybe it was the fear, the same fear that made him know not to ask further. Athrun wanted to believe that it was because Dietmar missed him just as much that made the boy cling to him for dear life.

Dietmar had no familial relation with him. _I know_. But what if the boy, just like Young, did not want to leave? _I will make him do so_. What if Dietmar hated him for that? _I don't care. As long as he doesn't have to spend the rest of his life being labelled as Athrun Zala's acquaintance_. What if the boy, just like Cagalli, did unimaginable things?

The inner monologue left him hung in the balance.

_I don't know_, he finally reverted, helpless—and hated himself for being so. _I don't know_.

Humans were curious creatures, so it was only natural that the frustration of not knowing what to do was maddening. And despite all regards and wrongdoings that the world wanted him to shoulder, Athrun Zala was only a human.

He was already dozing off on the sofa, with Dietmar half sprawled on his lap, when Erica came and shook him awake gently.

"Hathaway-san called to say there's going to be something so important on TV," she told him, turning the television on Athrun's left side on.

He shifted Dietmar gently to a better sleeping position next to him, and his movements won him another motherly smile from Erica. She had in fact had brought a thick duvet for Dietmar, knowing that the boy would want to spend as much time as possible with Athrun after a long period of forced separation. She then sat across him, and together they watched the television.

It turned out to be a recorded interview. The shocking part was that Cagalli was the interviewee, the one facing the cameras.

He paled. "What the—"

Erica put a finger in front of her lips.

This was not real. Not real _at all_.

"—as for whether I have connections with either Athrun Zala or Kira Yamato, you suppose I do. Yes, I do have connections. The four of us—they, Lacus Clyne and I—fought side by side as comrades in two wars." Her face was neutral of expression, but her eyes told him that she was not untroubled. Her gesture as she linked her fingers in front of her and crossed her legs also gave him a way. "As for Kira Yamato's whereabouts today, using this issue as a smear campaign against Orb is preposterous. Let his whereabouts be his and my secret to keep. I'm sure we all are—"

This _had_ to be a joke!

"—no, not as an Athha. I'm living in Uzumi-sama's mansion, speak of and listen to a lot of his thoughts, do a lot of things with that name, but not as me."

He could not breathe.

"I am not an Athha."

He did not wait for the interview to end. He left Dietmar to Erica and drove like crazy to the Attha Mansion. To hell with his city arrest and night curfew. He would see her _now_ even if he had to crawl on hands and knees. She had to be there, because there was her house. _Orb_ was her house; _Orb_ was her home. He would never let her give up that much loved home, damn it.

She was the one who offered him a place to stay after GENESIS collapsed. _Kira will be very happy to be able to talk more with you_, she reasoned. Later, he realized that it was her way to offer him a new home after he lost his father and home altogether. When he asked her about it, she brushed him off by saying that it was only so that the mouse in his head would not run on its wheel like mad like it did whenever he was alone.

Long ago, someone said that the word 'world' actually meant the 'loved people.' (2)

And love had multiple facades. Love was a man giving up his family to slave himself for his nation or a mentor teaching with steel discipline. Love was a boy joining an army not out of revenge but out of love for his dead mother or a mobile suit pilot standing up for unknown faces and names.

Cagalli did love, too, in her own way.

She did all those things because here was the only place where Athrun Zala could belong. And it was overwhelming. He could not handle it. He was not strong enough to handle it. So he drove his car faster and faster to the Athha Mansion because he was weak and could not accept it.

This time, Kira would really kill him.

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Notes:

(1) Chapter 9, the dream sequence with Young.

(2) Okay, not mine. Kamui in CLAMP's _X_, Vol. 10. When he's asked by Kakyou whether he will change his choice if he has a chance (because he's already chosen to save humanity). You know only CLAMP is able to pull off something like that.

The majority of Cagalli's speech is taken from the March 2003 edition of _Newsweek_. Technically most articles in that edition talks about the Iraqi War. I started favouring _Newsweek_ after that edition because _Newsweek_, in one way or another, is bolder than _Time_ to call the US's attack an invasion.


	12. Chapter 12: A Wizard and His Strings

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

First, let me say THANK YOU! I LOVE YOU! THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH!

This is for fledgling, who voted for Kira as the "Best Supporting Character," who tolerated my messing up, who was brilliant and all and who stayed.

I'm aware that the first part of this chapter will be somewhat mature and dark, but it's how I want it to be. So you have your warning now. Now, you tell me who your favourite character so is and what you think of BAZ so far. I'll see you again in the last chapter of BAZ. Oh, and whoever finds who "Neftali Basoalto" really is gets a bear hug from me.

That, and I still have some explanation left. So yeah. Enjoy this chapter, people.

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**Chapter 12**

Athrun always thought himself miserable when it came to sex.

It was not that he did not enjoy sex. He enjoyed sex, but it often turned out ugly because he always felt that he was only using sex as an escape.

The first time he used sex as an escape, he was too drunk to remember it clearly. He spent that night in a Diocuian bar with Heine, a very vivacious friend to drink with, and it seemed that he had been passed out when Heine dropped him into his room. And good Lord, Meer was there. Meer was there in the morning, in his room, in his bed, _with_ him.

Heine gave him a knowing smirk during breakfast that whole day, and poor Lunamaria, who happened to find out about it first, would not look at him in the eyes. He forced himself not to cringe when Meer glued herself to him that following day. He had been glad that not even the slightest memory remained from the previous night. He might have gone crazy if he remembered what happened.

Subsequent episodes were with faceless strangers or strange faces. Some faces he remembered because he, at least, had the decency to take her on a date before crashing into bed; other faces were blurry like the faces of casualties in battle. The last one had even caused a fall out between him and Kira. Kira was just being unreasonable, he thought. He had not done it in his own house for Dietmar's sake, and if there was anyone to be blamed, it was his co-workers. They thought that he needed to slow down, and they played the matchmaker. Kira had no right to be mad at him.

Or perhaps Kira did.

Because although it was his co-workers who had initiated it, by shoving him into a pub, Athrun later obliged to the arrangement himself.

Probably it was because he felt like he needed it, being tightly wound due to work and dormant self-improvement. Probably it was because he wanted it. Probably it was because he was stupid. And miserable. Or both. In any case, that day, he found a partner who was only a year or two older than himself. She was pretty even with minimalist make up. And she was blond. Sweet, blond Julia. It was a hat-off to his miserable self, in a way. But to be fair, he _had_ enjoyed their good-humoured flirting and enticing foreplay.

But it was not until Julia's back hit the bed and he hovered above her that the sentimental part of his brain kicked in.

And kick hard it did.

"Alex—slow—er—gentler."

He had his hand on Julia's neck, perhaps halfway to strangling her to death. The other hand clutched bodily at Julia's sternum, the hold so hard he was sure it would leave bruises. He snapped and immediately backed off rather harshly, staggering and making a pathetic show of himself.

What had he done?

But he knew why, oh he really did know why—and there went another misery.

Half an hour later, he came to sit before her on the bed. He was not sure that touching her would be okay, not after what he almost did.

"Was it that bad for you?"

He cringed and could not answer. Thus, he let silence reign for some uncomfortable moments.

Julia snorted. "I wouldn't mind doing it rough, though, you know. Just don't go all violent on me."

He cringed again. "Why are you doing this?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Why are _you_?"

He lowered his eyes to her chin. "I'm not sure I could answer that."

"Here goes another disorientated guy—nice but disorientated." She sighed. "You see, Alex, I'm here for enjoyment, so if you're going to whine, I'm not sure I'm the best in the listening department." Smiling, she patted him on his left shoulder. "You're a good guy, so I'm going to give you some advice. Go home, return to whoever waits there and don't look back. You don't fit in here."

He smiled, though weakly. "You make it sound like I'm running from home."

Julia tilted her head, her blonde head, and her shiny, curly blonde hair spilled over one shoulder. "Aren't you?"

He never answered that, not even after Julia fell asleep on the bed—and him on the couch.

The next morning, he saw her to the lobby where a cab awaited. Kira, who dropped by on a work matter, raised his eyebrows as they passed each other. Athrun only shrugged and signaled for Kira to go to his room first.

"Can we meet again?" he asked before he closed the cab door. He was careful not to phrase it as if he was eager to see her again. "As in for coffee?"

"No, Alex. No." Julia smiled, still with that indifference in her eyes. "No hard feelings, though."

"Oh." He straightened his posture and closed the cab door. "Alright."

"Don't stray too long from your home. Bye."

"Bye."

It took Kira's week-long glower and later, Cagalli's scathing remark of him being a "big bad wolf" (1) to finally make him sober up.

He had thought that Julia would be able to make him unwind, if only for just for a short time. Yet the indifference in her eyes, the superior smile on her knowing lips, and the distant expression on her face took its toll on him, casting a spell so powerful that he could not shake himself free. Why, why did Julia have to have such indifferent eyes, such a superior, knowing smile, such a distant expression and be _blonde_? It was wrong. He should have received a look of familiarity, or comfort, even affection. He should have, but he did not receive one. And he hated it. And so he had reacted.

It was the pain that wrenched, fisted through, and froze his insides at Julia's expression that made him stop.

That same pain was reigning in him now. Damn stupid interview relay. Damn stupid conspiracy. Damn stupid war-mongering. Damn stupid long way to the Athha Mansion. Damn this stupid world and all its stupid pain.

_So much for being a miserable big bad wolf_, he thought_. So much for it._

0+0+0+0+0

Kisaka was big and strong. But even he was no match for an extremely upset former ace pilot, who also happened to be a former guard of Orb One that knew the exact security procedure within the Athha Mansion. Said guard also happened to be the one responsible for arranging all details of said security procedure in the past.

"I'm sorry," he said to the colonel.

Not even a dislocated shoulder would erase the murderous fire in Kisaka's eyes as he glared at Athrun. "You're a convict."

"I know," he said. He repentantly eyed the other two guards leaning against the wall, both knocked out cold. "Give me a little time."

"You're a convict with a curfew," Kisaka rasped angrily.

Good old Mana, who had unfortunately witnessed the break-in, had run to call for more guards. Athrun knew that he only had a limited amount of time. He should not waste it by talking to Kisaka.

But it seemed that the noise had gained the attention of the Mansion's matriarch, for Cagalli herself appeared from behind the thick door of her study.

"What—"

"Cagalli, don't!" Kisaka yelled and tried to get to her before Athrun did, but his dislocated shoulder gave him a disadvantage.

Athrun snatched her arm quickly, ignoring her loud gasp.

"You—what—let go!" she snarled, trying to free herself from his hold.

He dodged from a flying fist. "I'm very upset right now, so you'd better cooperate," he hissed, tightening his hold instead and ignoring her wince.

"You don't talk in that tone to me," she shot back.

"Don't be stupid, Athrun!" Kisaka bellowed.

He glared at the colonel and opened his mouth to speak, but Cagalli beat him to that.

"One hour," she said to Kisaka. "If no one comes out after that, barge in."

She pulled him by his collar to get inside her study, and he staggered as she almost knocked him with her elbow. _Oh no_, his mind said. _You're not getting away now_. Still not letting go of her hand, he forcefully jammed his ID card backward into the electronic lock to break the automatic system. It would buy him time.

"What do you think you are doing?" She pressed against his side even though she was the one being cornered and trapped, the book shelves against her back and him against the front.

"What do you think _you_ are doing?" he repeated coldly. "Yes?" She tried once again to pull back her hand, but he did not budge. "Why? The rebuilding of Heliopolis won't be complete until five to seven years. The parliament won't quieten down unless you're there. The world won't rest in peace unless Orb is present full-force." He brought his face closer to her. The anger in her eyes matched his, he knew. "And you don't have a successor yet."

To his surprise, she turned her face and looked away. "Because Orb has no need for a leader who is half-hearted."

He made her look at him again, his free hand now half-cupping the back of her head. "You _are_ Orb."

"Now, don't be despotic. _L'etat c'est moi_ doesn't suit me, Athrun." The line of her mouth twisted into a bitter sneer. "That is how _you_ define Orb. That is _all_ Orb means to you."

His fingers pressed hard against her nape. "You were not serious."

She raised her chin defiantly. "I was. I _am_." Her free hand crept to his chest, fisting the fabric of his jacket as if she was going to rip it off. "So physical today, aren't you?"

"Can't I?" he taunted. "I've told you before; you are my anchor. I have nothing else to hold onto."

"Do you think I forget that?"

"No, you don't. You just don't want to remember. You don't want to remember this—us."

She looked like she wanted to cry. Or not. "Jerk."

She was his font of solace, his infinite well of comfort, but if—_when_—she really did what she said she would, the Cagalli he knew would belong only to his memory. He would not be able to look at her without remembering what she had done.

_Love is a verb, Athrun_, his mother once said. _You show your love in your actions_. The Zalas believed so—from Athrun Dan to Patrick to him. It really ran in the blood.

And Athrun cursed his blood.

"Yes," he breathed helplessly. "This is the me you've created." He knew that it hurt her just as much it did him. "After all, as you said yourself, I have a tendency of being masochistic. I'd rather have you chain me to you than have you let me go. But no. You just let me go. Just like that, and goddamn it, Cagalli, now I just want to just stop _feeling_."

"You wanted me," she shuddered, struggling to breathe, "to chain you to me..."

"And make me yours." He knew how pathetic it sounded, but it was the truth.

She drew a deep, shaky breath. "You bastard," she whispered. "When did I ever let you go?"

"But you did."

"How could I _ever_ let you go? I never—I never did," she choked, "because you were never mine to begin with."

And his fury exploded at that, deep, bitter and overwhelming. He pulled away only to tower over her, yelling into her face. "I am willing to _die for you_, damn it!"

She was upset, but she was not angry enough to throw his anger back at him. "I know you are." Her hand on his shoulder tightened. "But you're always too stubborn to realise that it isn't what I want from you."

"How is that—"

"I've never been reason enough for you to live, Athrun Zala," she said, raw and hurting. "I have enough deaths on my hands, and you still want to add one more into that number. Of all people, I don't want that from you. I _don't_ want to be your reason to die, you jerk. I want to be your reason to_ live_, and I hate that I'm _never_ enough to make you want to live, that I still mean _nothing_ to you after everything."

One thing was strangely absent from her: screaming. Yet the way she said those words was enough to wound him more deeply than any other pain he had ever experienced.

Painfully slowly, she dropped her forehead onto the dip between his collarbones. She sighed, her breath washing over his skin. "I know it's stupid of me to wish for that. You never live for me. You live for your past—no—you live _in_ your past. And I understand that. You do because if you don't, you will forget. You'll forget your mother, you'll forget all the pain that's been forced upon you, you'll forget all the deaths and you'll even forget your father. It hurts, and I understand why you do." She let out a strangled chuckle, so hollow that his ears hurt to hear it. "But didn't you see that I lost my father, too? I lost my father, who chose to die for me, who never took me as a reason enough to live, _right before my eyes_. Multiply the pain of losing your mother ten thousand times to know how I feel about my father. And you want me to go through that _again_. And you almost succeeded. Brilliant, Athrun. That's so brilliant of you."

The sarcasm dripping from her lips was nothing compared to the naked pain in her voice. In that moment, he wished he were deaf. "You—you just have to ask." He did not intend it to be that desperate, though. "Ask me to live for you! Ask me anything! I'm—"

"_Ask_?" she repeated incredulously, finally getting a little heated herself. "Ask, you say? No, I can't, damn it! I can't and won't ask, because you're never able to say no to me, and if you do, you do it because _I ask you_, because I want you to and _not_ because you want it yourself!"

"Then what do you want from me?" he shot back. "Do you want me to make you my reason to live? I can't! You know I can't, because every time I want to do something, I mess up and every time I want to protect, I end up tear everything down!"

"Then don't do it to me," she said against his neck. "I know how it feels to want to protect but fail. It's just anger, all of it. I know how it feels to be angry at yourself and still be angry—because anger feels so much better than the hurt." She paused, the emotions heavy and choking and desperate. "So don't do it to me. Don't make me too angry to forgive myself if anything happens to you. Don't make me hate myself. Don't let me hurt my self."

He scrunched his eyes tightly against the hot tears that were threatening to spill down his face.

And his lips crashed down on Cagalli's.

She froze. His head spun. They died a little more inside.

The kiss was anything, _anything_ but gentle. It was meant to bruise, to leave scars, to hurt. It was hunger and desperation and pain and a desire for _moremoremore_. He did not want to care. _Let her feel. Let her crumble to your level_, his dark mind urged. _Let her be as disgusting as you._

But she kissed back. Once. And again. She kissed back.

_This is how it feels to fall headfirst into madness_, his mind said. _And you will drag her down with you_. And should he care if she did not? Cagalli had already abandoned the rebuilding of Heliopolis, the one mega project that Orb and the Neo Eurasia-led group of donor countries had been working to complete, had abandoned the messy political conundrum, had abandoned the world, had abandoned Orb. And she did not give a damn.

_To hell with everything, eh?_

He pulled away abruptly—roughly—breathing hard, wanting to cry out in frustration, wanting to cry blood.

She did not let him go very far, though. "Did you kiss your women like that?"

"I kissed them, slept with them, yes," he hissed. Her taste lingered in his mouth, his lips tingling, his body aching. He clenched her wrist harder. _Let her feel_. "But I never hold onto them."

"The tighter you hold onto me, the faster you'll be broken."

"I _am_ broken." He lowered his forehead onto hers. Something inside him twisted up as he saw her flinching. In fear? Of him? Lord, what had he done? "But it's you who will suffer me." And his anger chose that moment to drain him of his temporary strength, leaving him to sag against her. His anchor, his steadfast anchor.

"Leave," Cagalli said, tormented and quiet. "Please."

"Please don't."

_Don't what? Don't do this to me? Don't let me be the one to drag you down? Don't let me see you crumble? Don't let me make you fall?_

He did not know what he did not want anymore.

Her breath fell on his collarbone, and she let go of his jacket. Her wrist was starting to swell. She pushed at his chest gently. She did not answer; she just pushed him away. She would not return to be the Cagalli in his memory.

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The moment he opened the door, a number of handguns rose to greet him, and among them was Kira's. Mana must have called him too. Athrun knew that Kira would not have thought twice about coming immediately. _Predictable_, he thought, donning a thin, dark smile. So he raised both hands to show that he was not armed.

"Lower the guns," Kira said to the guards.

"Siegfried-san, wh—"

"He's not an enemy."

_What an uncreative repetition of history_, he had wanted to say, but he did not have time because Kira swiftly snagged his arms and twisted them behind him. A solid 'click' let him know that a handcuff was secured in place.

"I'll take him back to Hathaway-san," Kira said to Kisaka and did not wait for an affirmation.

This was the first time his best friend had ever treated him so callously, mechanically. "Get inside." Kira forced him to duck his head and pushed him into the passenger's seat. Athrun's muscles protested as his bound hands collided with the backrest. Just as he was about to speak, he found himself facing the cold metal tip of Kira's handgun.

"One word, Athrun," Kira hissed through gritted teeth, though there was hurt in the violet eyes. "Say one word, and you'll give me a reason to once again be a murderer."

Gritting his own teeth, Athrun knew that Kira had the upper hand. The last thing he wanted from his best friend was for Kira to stain his hands with blood once again. "Just take these handcuffs off. I'm not going to flee."

"Said a man who once attempted to run away from the ZAFT headquarters, while handcuffed," Kira said dryly.

He was tired, so tired.

"Why?"

"Because I love her."

Somehow, he knew that Kira had expected this answer, and he was not surprised when his best friend retorted with the truth that he was too much of a coward to admit:

"No, you don't. You don't love her. You protect her because you don't know what you'll do if she isn't there to lead you. You just want to follow."

"Don't we all follow those whom we love?"

"But you don't always love those whom you follow."

"Well, excuse me if my love life isn't all melodramatic and such. Unlike _yours_, _my_ love life had to walk down a _via dolorosa_ and get crucified."

"So is this it?" Kira sneered, though it only came out half scornful, due to Kira's personality. "Is this all just about glorifying your... love life?"

And wrath was lethal.

"I want to give her something only _I_ can give, damn it! My life, my death, all of me—it's all hers to take! I just want to make her happy!" Despite his tiredness, he was shouting. "All I want is for her to be happy, and yet she just has to play the stupid lamb and sacrifice some more! I don't want that from her! Why can't she dismiss me for a greater good? Why can't she just use me, take from me, ask from me my everything? Why _can't_ she?"

Kira pulled off the road so abruptly that the wheels screeched noisily against the hard asphalt. Athrun's left arm pressed painfully into the door. Then, as if having his equilibrium shaken so suddenly was not enough, his head crashed brutally against the window as Kira slammed him against the door.

"Can you ask her to ask for your everything?" Kira shouted, his hold on Athrun's collar nearly choking him. "_Can you_, Athrun?"

But he knew the answer to that. And he knew that he could not—would never could.

Kira let go of him as if disgusted by his own unlikely outburst. In these recent years, Athrun had never seen his best friend lose control. "You and Cagalli are too similar; you know that more than anyone. What you want is what she wants. What you can't ask from her is what she can't ask from you." Kira dropped his face into his palms, exhaling loudly, bitterly. "This way, the two of you will only head to ruin."

But he knew that, too, didn't he?

_And yet you still do it_, his dark mind mocked cruelly.

This ruin was his responsibility as well as Cagalli's, because, just as Kira said, they were too similar. He had once believed that they balanced each other, but he was wrong. They mirrored each other. They were each other's reflection. This time, Athrun knew, there would be no one, not even Kira, to play the bridge between Cagalli and him.

After all, there was no point in bridging two ruins.

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_Date: October 9, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Reginald Omar Hathaway_

_Present Occupation: Orb National Domestic Security Affair Office, Orb_

_Prosecutor: Hart Rajamalela, Winifred Dudek, Neftali Basoalto_

"Did you let Alex Dino in the office knowing that Alex Dino was formerly known as Athrun Zala?"

"The decision wasn't against the Orb Constitution."

"Did you?"

"Well, if you want to cross a river and someone comes to offer help, will you refuse him?"

"Did you?"

"Yes, yes, I did."

"Do you remember Alex Dino ever committing any violations of the law?"

"He's always been responsible and committed. If there was a time he wasn't, then I forgot when, and you can forgive this old man his sin."

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_Date: October 15, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Cagalli Yula Athha_

_Present Occupation: Orb Representative Council, Orb_

_Prosecutor: Hart Rajamalela, Winifred Dudek, Rikard Weller Caird, Neftali Basoalto_

"Did Your Excellency agree to Athrun Zala's application for an Orb citizenship?

"With due respect, I am no under obligation to clarify our immigration policy."

"Has Athrun Zala ever participated in any Orb military action?"

"The answer to this question belongs to the confidentiality of our military."

"Has Your Excellency ever issued any personal approval to Orb citizenship applications submitted by former military members?"

"It's Orb policy that grants approval, not me."

"Even if the applicants are terrorists?"

"Orb deals differently with terrorists."

"With arms?"

"In any way as guided by our constitution."

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_Date: October 23, CE 78_

_Subject: Athrun Zala_

_Contender: Athrun Zala_

_Present Occupation: Orb National Domestic Security Affair Office, Orb_

_Prosecutor: Hart Rajamalela, Rikard Weller Caird, Neftali Basoalto_

"Did you take Dietmar Gladys, son to Leopold and Talia Gladys, under your care, and bring him to reside in Orb?"

"Yes."

"Did you have legal authorization that permitted you to take Dietmar Gladys?"

Athrun could feel his head throb. Dietmar's face flashed in his mind repeatedly. "No."

"Did either Leopold or Talia Gladys ask you to take Dietmar Gladys under your ca—"

"Gentlemen, they died in the war," Young cut in sharply, standing. "If there's anyone who knows how to gain permission from the dead, I would like to meet him."

Athrun pulled Young's sleeve tiredly. He could not stand any more shouting. He did not even care what the previous hearing sessions, Hathaway's and Cagalli's respectively, had been like. Let them all hear what they wanted to hear. Let them all skin him.

Young glared at him, but nevertheless he sat back. "You're not letting them corner you like this." His defender was clearly irritated.

He shook his head. "I'm telling the truth."

"Not if it could kill you."

"At least I would be an honest dead man."

Young glared even more but said nothing.

0+0+0+0+0

Three hours later, the representative of the prosecutors, Neftali Basoalto, read Athrun their temporary decision; one that left Athrun even more dead than he thought he could be.

Blood was drained from his face.

"Wait," he tried to argue. "Wait, please."

Basoalto did not seem to hear him.

"What do you mean you're going to take him?"

Never, ever, tickle a lion's snout.

The next moment went by like a movie in slow-motion. He leapt across the table, stumbling a little. He would have fallen if not for Young bracing him, and dashed at Basoalto. He almost made it to the prosecutor's collar—only an inch further to success—when the butt of a guard's rifle slammed into his left temple. Hard.

For the only way to handle an angry lion was to kill it.

It happened so fast that he did not even have the chance to cover his face. All he saw was pitch black. His left eye felt like it had been hit by a massive truck, the sudden pain so blaring that he might have passed out for a second or two. He heard curses and yells and footsteps, feeling Young's hands on his shoulder and back. The floor was cold beneath his palms, and there was the sickening smell of blood.

"This is a serious violation of a subject of law's rights!"

"Let me remind you, Mr. Young, that it was _your_ client who first tried to violate Mr. Basoalto!"

"He wasn't trying to do _anything_!"

"He tried to _strangle_ Mr. Basoal—"

"I apologise," Athrun promptly interrupted. "My action was spurred by emotion. It wasn't planned, Mr. Basoalto. I really apologise." He used Young's hand to help him sit, though he was still swaying a little. "Talk to them. I'm alright," he said to his defender.

Young looked at him in doubt. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. Please."

Young did not look like he bought it, but he left to run after Basoalto anyway. After all, he, more than anyone, understood that it was important not to let the prosecutors add on a minus point due to any erroneous judgments on Athrun.

The commander of the guards came to kneel near Athrun. "Can you stand?" he asked.

"In a minute," he replied, still dizzy and nauseous.

"Sorry about that."

"You're just doing your duty."

The commander offered him a kerchief. "I'll ask one of my men to take you to the medical bay before you leave."

Athrun understood his worry. The critical press would take this as, indeed, a violation the law, and the guards would receive the first of the blame. Athrun should not have cared, but he did not want others to be blamed for his mistake.

As he lay on a bed in the medical bay, the words that Basoalto had spoken returned in full force.

"_We have assessed that it is best to have Dietmar Gladys under neutral, standard care—"_

Hell to neutral. Hell to standard.

"—_until it is time for the International War Tribunal to commence its decision in just and—"_

Hell to justice.

"_Best to have Dietmar Gladys under neutral, standard care."_

"_Dietmar Gladys under neutral, standard care."_

"_DIETMAR GLADYS. Under. Neutral, standard care."_

Hell to it all.

Young came to him half an hour later. "Not good," he murmured. "Aggressive behaviour. Flawed cooperation. Inappropriate reaction."

Athrun just pressed his pack of ice harder against his temple.

"How is his head?" Young asked the nearest nurse.

"Fine, except for a scratch or two. Still, he'd better go to a hospital to check if he's got a minor concussion."

Young grunted. "I'm so going to sue this hearing."

"Well, things often happen in an interrogation," the nurse said.

"This is _not_ an interrogation," Young snarled.

The nurse shrugged uncaringly. "Doesn't look any different to me." Then he left.

Young clicked his teeth loudly out of irritation.

"He's got a point there." Athrun got up from the bed. _This is an interrogation, an undoing of power for me_, he thought. _If I still have any left, of course_. The damn rifle hit had ruined both his face and his suit; his collar was stained with blood. He sighed. There was no way he could meet Dietmar like this. "Will, please go to Erica-san's house and tell Dietmar I'm sorry I can't see him today."

Young gave him a suspicious look.

The stitches on his temple were itchy, but it would not help the wound if he rubbed at it. Hell. "I'll be fine."

"There's no way you can drive in your condition, and I won't risk the chance of you being hit, kidnapped or killed when you're wandering around by yourself."

"Fine," he snapped. "Since you're the capable one between us, drive me to a goddamn hospital, give Dietmar my message, and come back to pick me up."

Despite the circumstances, Young grinned. "That's the spirit."

0+0+0+0+0

The doctor who had tended to him after Athrun's assassination attack only shook his head as Athrun walked through his door. Later, Athrun was told that he was the only patient who returned to that doctor twice in less than half a year.

"Always ripe with injuries, aren't you?"

"You can't imagine, doc," he replied dryly.

"So," the doctor began, "What was it this time?"

"I ticked off the court."

The doctor snorted. "I heard about it, and I can't say I'm happy about that. Including about you."

"Yeah, I'm a downright liar. Continue rubbing it in my face," he countered sarcastically.

"At least this time you're not running away." The doctor smiled a little. "The brave men of Orb would be proud of you."

Athrun was found to have a minor concussion and was not allowed to leave the hospital for two days. The information about the incident in his last hearing had reached Hathaway's ears, and, no doubt, Cagalli's, too. Orb officially filed a protest to the Tribunal. A late night news program stated, "Even though Athrun Zala is a war criminal, the appreciation of human rights is fundamental."

Young came back at two in the morning to tell him that Dietmar had already been taken from Erica Simmons' house. At 02.15, he was ready to search all over Orb for Dietmar, but at 02.33, Shinn, of all people, came to force him to stay in the hospital.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"Oh, I'm hurt," his former subordinate mocked. "I thought you'd at least listen to me as an old friend."

He wanted to say that he could not remember ever being friends with Shinn Asuka, but decided against it.

Shinn grabbed a chair and sat near the door, as if to block Athrun's way out. He even ushered Young out. "You're going to stay, and you're going to listen to me."

"What? Did Yzak die and make you his successor?"

Shinn scowled darkly. "Someday he will, just we all will. But he will die a proud warrior's retribution, unlike you—if you're still going to be stubborn about leaving." His face darkened. "Dietmar is safe, so there's no need to worry about your boy."

"So he is safe, I shouldn't worry, and I _still_ will die," Athrun said through gritted teeth.

Shinn put both elbows on his knees. "You know that there are people who would be happier if Athrun Zala doesn't exist anymore. But, you see, even in your death, as a dead Athrun Zala, you continue to prickle them. I guess that's why the existentialists say that existence comes before presence. So now that you have come back as Athrun Zala, they won't be able to sleep peacefully before you... cease to exist."

"In other words, before I'm dead," he paraphrased.

"It takes more than just a death to stop you from existing," Shinn countered. "Athrun Zala must be erased from history. He mustn't be allowed to exist in any way. How?" Shinn shrugged. "Exile him from humanity. Strip him of his power. Undo all his achievements. Taint his name through a smear campaign. Let him rot all by himself."

It was almost surreal to listen to Shinn speaking about it; Yzak would suit the role better, he thought. They were speaking about Athrun Zala as if the name's owner was a third person beyond the conversation, a man too pitiful to be allowed life, too evil to be condoned existence.

"So don't make it happen faster, you bastard," Shinn scowled. "There are also people working their asses off to give you this small room to breathe in. If you can't do it for your own sake, do it for them."

A minute passed, then, "Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you?" he repeated. "One of them, I mean. Those who want to give me a small room to breathe in."

Shin grunted under his breath, muttering about a tactless, bold, stupid former commander. "Humans always need something to believe in. Religions, philosophies, ideologies, dogmas, and such. Something to follow. Something to hold onto. Some choose to believe in a person, because it is easier to hold onto an embodiment of beliefs in a person. _I_ am one of that people." He paused. "We choose to follow not because it's easier than believing in ourselves. We choose to follow because we don't know if we're able to believe in ourselves."

They did not converse anymore.

At four in the morning, Shinn announced that a joint unit of ZAFT and Orb military had put Athrun under vigilance due to Orb's request to the Tribunal. In return, the Tribunal demanded that he was not to wander around as freely as before. He was also not to see anyone to discuss anything unless it was related to the Tribunal's interest.

On October 25, CE 78 evening, Athrun Zala was officially put in a house arrest.

0+0+0+0+0

People came and went.

The scheduled hearing sessions ended—for good or bad he did not know. Yzak, his magistrate, came to let him know that there insistence from PLANT to bring him back and put him in a PLANT trial. Others urged to issue a complete annulment of his service in ZAFT even though it had to annul both Patrick and Dullindal's authorized orders. Some others called for a thorough investigation on PLANT's agreement on specific asylum policies. _You are a Hitler to be erased from history by a Germany-like PLANT_, Yzak had said. And even though Lacus Clyne had tried her best to remind PLANT that a nation must not forget her history, the Clyne faction was only one entity. The lack of international power resulting from the Second War had taken its toll on the people's nationalism, and the newly forged nationalism needed an offering to commemorate its birth.

Given the heavy political pressure in the Tribunal, Athrun had little doubt that all the popular demands would be ignored.

Some sharp-minded individuals on Earth had noticed the power play in the Tribunal, and had asked for a just and fair court for all war deserters. They said that the receptions were exaggerated. They were sure that, particularly in Athrun Zala case, if it were not someone named Zala, the reactions would not be as vast. Even so, they were not willing to take sick men under their roof.

Orb had been divided into two major opinions. Some political opportunists used the issues as their joker card and played a dirty hand. Cagalli, the Athha heir who was Orb's backbone, was once again forced to keep the nation intact almost single-handedly. On the other hand, she had to deal with low-blow political attacks on her hereditary and her connection with Kira Yamato. So far, it was an internal battle with fellow Orb civilians and external battle with the hungry part of the world.

If not because of the Athha guidance—Athhaism as it was popularly called now—Orb would really be split into two.

If not because of Cagalli, Athrun would not mind falling a little faster.

"'George Glenn and I remained friends until his brutal death. I was one of the earliest Coordinators on Earth, and I was named The Dawn. If George Glenn said that he was the bridge, the coordinator of all mankind in order to create better order in a better world, I hoped I could serve to be the dawn of our friendship, fellow Coordinators and Naturals. If we Coordinators were to be exiled, we still would not yield. We humans were born for a purpose, and we will advance towards that purpose. The light is tiny, the hope is delicate, but we will move ever onward, and never retreat.'

Young averted his eyes from the book and looked at the single listener in the study room. Said listener was seated before him, looking calm despite the turmoil in his eyes.

"'Said Athrun Dan Zala in his inauguration speech as the Chairman of the Coordinator Fellowship Committee in CE 47,' Athrun completed for his defender. "My grandfather. The last Chairman of the Coordinator Fellowship Committee. Before there was PLANT. Before the Coordinators were exiled to space." He took the book from Young's hand. "I used to read those lines over and over again, you know."

"I don't know why last night I suddenly wanted to reread this book. I've read this when I was in uni." Young raised the book to show him—a hard cover edition of _The Legacy of Athrun Dan Zala_. "I thought it was nuts, at first. Then again, objectively, he's far more moderate than your father."

"Objectivity is the magic word," Athrun said.

"And it's the only word that won't be applied to you."

"Because when it comes to my name, objectivity is the hardest thing to find."

Young was quiet for a while. "It was terrible."

It was, indeed, terrible. During the last three days, news programs broadcasted the current situation in PLANT. A group of people who called themselves The New Patriots had raided the old Zala House. In other cities in PLANT, people had been burning books written by and about the Zalas. Three right-wing members of the PLANT Supreme Council had voiced out their support on bringing Athrun back to PLANT. _Athrun Zala is a traitor who sold his country for a safe refugee in the post-war_, they said.

Young had been furious. _Civilised people don't burn books_, he said openly in an unplanned interview this morning. Most scholars in the world had agreed with Young, but they could not stop the rampage.

In just one night, streaks of grey hair appeared among his dark ones, and there were visible wrinkles on his forehead, below his eyes and at each corner of his mouth. Young even had the wit to compare him to Marie Antoinette, whose face and hair whitened like ash as she tried to escape from the brutal beheading that Paris had planned for her.

"Well, I'm not Marie Antoinette, and I'm not going to be beheaded," he said. "But you're right. A lot of things have happened."

Young knew that he was not going to talk about it. "I only hope it's for good."

He donned a thin smile. "We live in a world of evils, Will."

"But it doesn't automatically make us evil," Young countered. He then rose from his seat and took something out from his pocket. "Here."

Athrun accept it, asking with his eyes.

"A small present." Young shrugged. "An early birthday gift."

He looked at the calendar. It was still two days till October 29.

As if knowing Athrun's thoughts, Young said, "I'm leaving for Zurich with your magistrate. The Tribunal ordered so, blah-blah-blah. I won't be back until November 4, I think."

"Oh." He looked at the book-like gift on his hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Oh, and don't open it until your birthday." Young smiled lightly. Before he left, Young stopped at the door and said, "It won't hurt to shave, you know."

People came and went, but on October 29, CE 78, Athrun Zala seemed to be alone on his twenty-third birthday.

Young's gift was a hand knife, well made, exquisite and polished. Young must have had to order the knife; there was his initial AZ on the grip. There was a small note attached to the box: on it, Young's handwriting, with the words, 'Make me a duck, Boss!'

Athrun could not help smiling at that, though a duck reminded him of Dietmar.

Kira called him in the afternoon. Aside from congratulating him, his best friend told him that he would drop by after work to pass on Dietmar's gift to him. It was enough to put Athrun in slightly better mood the whole evening. At least his boy remembered!

Kira would not arrive until late, he knew. His best friend was currently engaged in the investigation of the murder attempt on Cagalli. Hathaway was in charge of the investigation, and the old colonel had taken Kira along. This last week alone Kira had flown from Orb to Neo Equator and back. Athrun wondered if Kira had been able to find the missing link in his own investigation. He was dying to drag the bastard out himself, but his house arrest limited his access.

At 20.43, he had a visitor.

"Hello, Alex," Dmitrij Feyedorov said in his thick Neo Eurasian accent, polite and respectful.

This one came and did not seem to go very soon.

0+0+0+0+0

Athrun had always known that there was something disquieting about Dmitrij Feyedorov.

It was in his smile; the way he charmed a millions of people across the world. It was in his manner; the way he showed the world that he was a new leader of a new Neo Eurasia, chosen and trusted by his people to lead the once beleaguered nation into a new era. It was in his easygoing nature; the way he preferred using first names with people and humoured them in his presence. It was in his political vision; the way he held onto his principles even in jail and later rose to share his thoughts with the rest of the world. It was in his persona; the way he fitted into the triumvirate of Feyedorov, Lacus Clyne and Cagalli Yula Athha, the world's most prominent young leaders.

Dmitrij Feyedorov was too perfect of a man.

"I'm dropping by to see how you've been doing," the prime minister said. "They said today is your birthday—Athrun's birthday, I mean." He smiled. "Happy birthday."

"Feyedorov-san, why ar—"

"I told you, didn't I? Call me Dmitrij."

"Why," he swallowed, "are you here?"

"Oh, I came on a two-day diplomatic trip to assure Neo Eurasian's commitment to aid Orb in the Neo Heliopolis project."

"Why are you _here_?" he repeated more firmly.

The prime minister looked at him strangely. "Can I have a seat first?" Yet, without waiting for an answer, he pulled out chair to sit across from Athrun. "And would you mind to put that knife away, please? I have enough nightmares with weaponry."

Although reluctant, Athrun complied.

"Ah yes, thank you." Feyedorov straightened his posture, leaning back. "Now, where were we? Oh, right. Why I am here." He paused. "To see how you are, as I said."

"You know how I am as well as the rest of the world."

Feyedorov waved a hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, of course. But I want to see—no—make sure of something myself." He paused again. "Pray tell, Alex, do you remember anything about the liberation of Eurasia, way, way back in the Second War?"

He frowned.

"Back then, there was... forced subjugation in Eurasia. The Eurasian people were downtrodden. They were desperate for justice and freedom, but the Earth Alliance wouldn't give it to them. And then ZAFT offered its help. The people accepted it, and this Dmitrij Feyedorov was also there, a witness to the Earth Alliance's repression and its downfall thanks to ZAFT. Liberation had never been sweeter." A thin smile appeared. "That was the first time we met, Athrun. I was in jail when the Minerva came, but I knew you were with them. Saviour, wasn't it?"

"How—" Athrun had a feeling that he would not like this. "How did you know?"

If anything, Feyedorov's smile grew more and more disquieting.

"Why don't I tell you a bedtime story, Athrun?" He leaned back further onto the chair. "Once upon a time, there was a man who had two sons, the first one being an illegitimate from one of his many lovers. They both should have been born as Naturals, but the man's antipathy toward his mistress's son resulted in making his second born a Coordinator. He did it so that his younger son would surpass the elder one.

"The man treated his sons differently. To his elder son, he was cold and distant. He even sent his elder son to reside in a faraway country. This boy in return harboured no respect for his father. But despite that, his younger brother, the Coordinator, loved and protected him. 'What's wrong with being born the way he is? He's still your son and my brother,' the younger brother said to the man. Thus the elder son began to adore his younger brother, and despite the distance between them, the younger brother was the elder son's hero. So imagine how the elder son felt when he found out that his younger brother had been killed. His younger brother helped to liberate countries; he should have returned with glory. He shouldn't have returned in a coffin containing only his uniform. The red of his uniform should be the colour of bravery, not the colour of blood.

"At that time the elder son vowed to find out the truth behind his younger brother's death. Find out the truth behind his death, find out those who were responsible—find them all. And he finally found a person, one who was most responsible."

Silence.

Feyedorov looked too calm, while Athrun was too numb to speak understanding dawned in him. He tried to speak, but something got lodged in his throat and robbed him of his words.

Feyedorov's smile was now cold yet remorseful. "My name now, Athrun, is Dmitrij Feyedorov," he said quietly, "because that bastard father of mine never approved of me as Heimlich Westenfluss."

0+0+0+0+0

Athrun wondered if his new knife would have to perform a gory job tonight.

"Stay in your seat." Feyedorov waved a hand, his other one reaching inside his suit to take out a small, black revolver. "Even the fastest runner is a loser to the slowest bullet."

Athrun clenched and unclenched his fists. _Wrong_, he said. _You're wrong, amateur_. In a close-range one-to-one fight, a knife was more efficient than a gun. A gun wielder needed to aim, cock and pull the trigger. Even after the shot, the gun wielder must be prepared for the backward force that jerked his arm and disturbed his balance.

A knife wielder, on the other hand, only needed to coordinate with his knife. Slash, slice, cut open or stab-and-pull. Game over.

But now was not the time to let a knife do the talking. He still had so much to know.

Feyedorov held his revolver as if holding a can of soda. "Oh, I wouldn't be surprised if you've managed to unravel most of the scenario by yourself. After all, you're never one to underestimate. So let's go through it one by one. Why did the Indonesian government change its mind at the last-minute? Because of me. It was so easy to persuade the Indonesian government not to host the conference, saying that the risk was far too great to handle and it was better to leave the tedious work to Orb. Why was there a tapping incident my last visit? Because I wanted to _know_ your capacity in handling the security system—not merely measure it. And I did, thanks to this." Feyedorov lightly tapped the tip of his revolver to his pretty Eurasian temple.

Athrun gripped the armrests of his sofa so hard.

"Why did your intelligence mission almost fail in Neo Equator, forcing you to fly there to pick up your team? Because your so-called prey had been told, 'Hey, a monster's going to sneak under your bed soon.' Because I knew a man like you couldn't let others play the saviour. Because, despite your strictness, you're way too soft to be in an intelligence office. Why did Mr. Walter try to kill you? Oh, he had been suspicious of you since the end of the First War, but it was I who nailed the idea of revenge into his mind more firmly and made him my hands and feet. Poor, poor Mr. Walter and his equally pitiful group of avengers."

Athrun was shaking. Out of fear? Out of anger? He was not sure.

"Why was that bunch of dirty geezers in PLANT so eager to have you skinned? Why were they suddenly so vocal about PLANT's sovereignty and glory? Why did I mention belladonna in one of our chats? Oh, yes, I know all about that escapade of yours at that conservation park, Athrun. About what's going on in your office? About your—I mean you and Miss Athha's—dirty little secret? About Mr. Young's plan in the trial? Well, Athrun, let's say that it's easy when you have my influence, my brain... and these."

Feyedorov pulled something from his pants pocket. Several tiny gadgets glittered inside a plastic packet. Athrun recognized the gadget immediately, perfectly. It was the newest transmitter that Erica Simmons had released half a year ago. It was a part of the formal VVVIP security procedure, a part that was now being used to turn against the procedure.

The faux letter to Yzak's office and the tapping incident made sense now, as did Kaleeb Jay Nkono's role and the man's intentional confession. The genuine identification on the faux letter was also easy to understand when he related it to Heinrich Ottmar Walter's involvement in the Scientific Research and Manufacturing Office of Orb. It was easy for a man of Feyedorov level to play friends with every side of the play. He was a mighty conductor who orchestrated with invisible strings. He used them all well to his own advantage, and he cleverly kept them unaware of his conducting so that he could just dump them when he reached his goal.

What a brilliant enemy to have, Athrun thought. Vicious, but brilliant.

Feyedorov pointed his revolver at him, smiling. "We humans are greedy beings, Athrun. Mr. Walter was greedy for revenge. Too deep in his wrath towards ZAFT deserters. Your mice from Neo Equator are greedy for a blue and normal world. Too deep in their pathetic, imbecile close-mindedness. You? You're greedy for something to believe in. Too deep in your self-deceit, believing that it is love that you seek, that it is devotion that you give. And me? I'm greedy for the answer to my lifetime's question. You see, Athrun, we all are greedy, and we all are in this too deep."

"If so," he said, gritting his teeth. He could not breathe for crying. He could not cry for breathing. "Why are you targeting her?"

Feyedorov raised both eyebrows, as if Athrun was a student asking a ridiculous question in his class. "Well," he said softly, "do you know the story of Matias Adukurf?"

He had heard the name somehow, somewhere, but he did not remember.

"Why do you think Logos fell so fast, Athrun? Well, let's just say that Mr. Adukurf helped to end the Second War," Feyedorov said. "He sneaked information about Logos to Chairman Dullindal. In his confession, he said he did it for his son, Matisse Adukurf, who had altered so much to being an Extended that the boy couldn't recognize his father. The leaking was his revenge. When I learned about the Adukurfs, I couldn't help thinking, 'Will we take action only after our precious ones have been taken from us? Will we take an action only after it's too late?' The crazy light in Feyedorov's eyes dimmed briefly before it returned harder, colder. "I didn't target Miss Cagalli, Athrun; my puppets did. I used her to get you. I want you to give me the answer I've been searching for since my brother's death."

"_Fears make us strive forward. Civilisations are led by fear. People fear the dark; they create fire. People fear the unseen; they establish religions and beliefs. People fear the different; they fight and go to wars. And wars are often an honest reflection of our fears."_

Heine's GOUF had exploded right before his eyes.

"_People die, Athrun. Wars kill, and I see soldiers die every day. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid of getting used to it, of getting used to the idea that it makes no difference if they live or die. I'm afraid of not being able to look behind because I'm too used to moving onward."_

No more stupid, easy smiles. No more earnest encouragements. The explosion had taken them from him and proved his own fear.

_I'm afraid of my father, so I don't want to be him. I'm afraid of wanting the unreachable, so I don't want to know what I want anymore. I'm afraid of losing my important people, so I don't want to make them more important than they already are. I'm afraid of myself, so I run away from being Athrun Zala._

"Every year I pay a private homage to his grave—an empty grave like your mother's and Mr. Amarfi's son's. Every year I tell myself to find the answer to my question. Why did he, who knew what he wanted, who went to battles because he knew what wanted from wars, have to die while you live?" Feyedorov straightened his back once again. "However, this is not revenge, Athrun. This is merely one in a lifetime of question-and-answer."

_I run away from being Athrun Zala._

"And you," Feyedorov stood, walking evenly to him, close, so close that he was now standing right before Athrun, revolver steady and thirsty in his hand, "will answer me."

He raised his face to look at Feyedorov.

"They sent his stuff back home," Feyedorov said. "His diary, battle notes, photographs of him and his squadron, photographs of us. Random stuff. Dead stuff. He wrote that you're the most enigmatic soldier he's ever met. Wanting to fight but not being able to. Not wanting to fight but having to. Janus of the battlefield. And that's why you're one of the people whom my brother didn't want to look behind on just to find dead."

_But why shouldn't I when I know Athrun Zala has so much to lose?_

"Your existence is the one I hate the most."

_I hate my own self, too._

"Because people die and you live and you don't even know if you're worth it."

The black revolver was glinting. It was in his lap. The black revolver was in his lap and glinting.

"You—"

Feyedorov's fingertips glided along the surface of his revolver. Then his hand let go, smoothly, like his speech and manner and scheme.

It was his now.

So he took the revolver.

Aim, cock and pull the trigger.

0+0+0+0+0

Athrun knew that it was only a matter of time before Kira opened the door. He had heard his best friend's steps in the corridor, and he could imagine the way Kira dashed to get him. He did not want Kira to see him now. Not now. Not when he was like this.

The door opened to reveal Kira, worry and fear of the worst on his face. "Was there a shooting? I think I heard—"

Kira stopped short, stunned and horrified. Blood was pooling under Athrun's ankle, dark red and so wrong. Rivulets of dark red blood stained Athrun's left leg from knee down, staining the carpet. On the sofa's armrest, beside Athrun's hand, a black revolver lay innocently, as if saying that it was only a witness to whatever had happened in the room. Feyedorov stood beside Athrun, and it seemed that he was still recovering from his own shock.

"Alex!" Kira lunged forward to reach for the revolver. It was still hot to hold. "Was it you?" he snapped at Feyedorov.

"No—I—Alex was asleep when I came, so I tried to wake him up. He started, and during my attempt to calm him, my gun fell." He swallowed. "I'll call an ambulance." He slipped away from Kira to use his cell-phone. From Feyedorov's frantic conversation, Kira overheard that an ambulance was due to arrive in ten minutes.

Kira knelt before his best friend. Athrun was sweating excessively, and his lips had started to turn white. There was a hole in his left knee, where the bullet had pierced fabric and flesh through to the sofa. It explained the massive amount of bleeding, and, in a way, it was good that the bullet had gone through. _I've got a hole again in my body_, he thought. _I wonder if it'll fit the one in my heart._

"I'm—fine," Athrun rasped. One did not have to be a psychic to read Kira's mind. He swallowed a moan and tried to fight the pain that made him want to close his eyes and sleep.

The stench of blood made Kira nauseous, but he had to stay and stop the bleeding. Otherwise, Athrun might pass out before the ambulance arrived. "You—just—just stay with me," he whispered helplessly.

Despite the pain, Athrun managed to let out a faint chuckle. He could not help it as the panic danced on Kira's face. Cagalli would bop him on the head for making her brother worried to hell. "Yeah—ow."

"What happened here? I'm going to kill you if you don't die first, you stupid, stupid man."

"Yeah."

Behind Kira, Feyedorov watched. His eyes were not as crazy as before, and when they met Athrun's, there was something like recognition in them.

0+0+0+0+0

White ceiling. White walls. IV in an arm. Steady beep of a cardiogram.

_Hospital_, his mind concluded, as if wrapping up the fact that one and one were two.

"The bullet severed a lot of his nerves and broke his kneecap. It will take a long time to heal, but even I couldn't guarantee that it will heal well. It is a miracle already that his leg doesn't have to be amputated."

"But he's a—"

"Coordinator. Yes, I'm fully aware of that, Siegfried-san," the doctor cut in. "But even a Coordinator will need time to fully recover. His kneecap has received such a serious injury, and fissures in bone don't pull through as fast as flesh does."

Athrun listened quietly.

"Are you sure this is the right thing to do?"

A soft laugh. "Considering that this time you don't kidnap me to make me change my mind, yes, it is." Another soft laugh, though with more sadness. "I don't know. Pathetic, isn't it? But I really don't know. It isn't in my power to know whether this is the right thing or not. I just know that this is something necessary to do."

"What about Orb, then? World peace? The future?"

"We build our future on our past and present, Kira."

A long silence.

"You know how much I love you."

"I know you love me enough not to let me hurt myself, Kira." A pause again and a sigh. "But it hurts me every time he hurts himself. And it has to stop."

Then the exchange ended. Athrun heard the door open, and the sound of departing footsteps. Kira must have exited his room.

"I know you're awake."

It was just then that he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. "I know you know that I'm awake." He moved to a half-sitting position. "And I know you know that I listened to that."

She smiled thinly at him. "I'm not sorry you heard that."

He averted his eyes to her chin. "I don't know what to say, because you're too impossible to begin with." He smiled bitterly. "If I start thinking that this all is because the Coordinators are a solid cosmic mistake, I can't face my mother. We Coordinators aren't Frankenstein's monster, though we're born from the same greed of mankind. If I say that this all is because it's only about conquest and subordination between the Coordinators and Naturals, then I really will become my father. And I don't want that. If I say this is all because I'm too powerless to do anything, then you'll hate me for pitying myself."

She seemed considering for a moment. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Pitying yourself."

"I'm not. I'm just angry, like you've said."

"Because you're powerless?"

"Because I don't know myself anymore."

"I do that to you."

He did not deny or confirm it. "When I was in a coma—you know—after your murder attempt, I dreamt. Or rather, I saw my memories in my dream." He closed his eyes again. "Lots of them. They were random. And clipped. I don't know." His shoulders sagged. "Some of them were good memories, and some I'd prefer not to see ever again." He did not know why on earth he rambled like this. All he knew was that he wanted her to hear him, to hear and comfort him. "I know them—those memories. But I don't know anything anymore. I don't."

A sigh. A shifting on the bed. She had moved to sit beside him on the bed, in the empty space between his arm and hipbone. She took one of his hands in hers. Yet Athrun did not dare to open his eyes yet. Who knew if she would fly the second he decided to meet her eyes.

"I don't know anything anymore," he repeated, more softly. He inhaled deeply until his lungs were full with oxygen and her scent and _just_ her, even though he was the cosmic mistake who did not deserve it. "And I really, really don't know what to say either."

"Then don't say anything."

"But I have to," he insisted. "Because you're my everything and you know me all too well."

A thumb stroked the back of his hand, near the spot where the IV needle punctured the skin. An exhalation of breath. A minute of waiting. "And you, mine. You will only drag me down along with you if you fall, so don't fall. But if I do fall, know that it's my decision to do so." A long, pregnant pause. His hand tightened on hers. "I'm not going anywhere." A forced, short-lived chuckle. "But as long as you don't know what you want, you won't be able to find me."

"I will find you."

"I know you will." Her hand tightened back. "It's just that we don't know how long it will take for you to find me."

"Will you wait?"

He opened his eyes, and her eyes find his. Then Cagalli closed her eyes, and Athrun waited just like she had always been waiting for him.

"For you, I will."

0+0+0+0+0

Notes:

(1) see Chapter 9, where Cagalli read to the children in Kira's orphanage.


	13. Chapter 13: A Man

**Being Athrun Zala**

Author: pratz

Disclaimer: Sunrise. Or else I wouldn't write a fanfic, you see.

Notes: see Afterword.

0+0+0+0+0

**Chapter 13**

_Five years ago, Murrue Ramius gave Athrun a long, long stare as he appeared on her door and presented himself in her house._

"_My ears must have played a trick on me," she said. "Or rather, you're playing a trick on me."_

"_It's not a trick."_

_Murrue leant forward, almost intimidating. "You did not tell me you wanted to take Captain Gladys' son with you."_

"_But I did."_

_He knew where this talk would lead to. He was not on the highest place in the father-to-have list. He was a deserter in hiding, son of a mad leader whose madness almost literally destroyed Earth and above all a man who never had a normal relationship with his father whatsoever. Even Kira had objected his visit to Murrue's house._

_Behind them, Mwu La Flaga stood quietly, leaning against the wall. He seemed to have wanted to say something but decided to keep his silence. After all, being an estranged son himself, he was not one to comment on Athrun's sudden desire to father—in a way—the late Captain Talia Gladys' only son._

"_What's this? Did you owe Captain Gladys something?"_

"_I owe everyone as well," he replied. "This is not a play of debt, Murrue-san."_

_Murrue groaned. "Santa doesn't come before Christmas, you know."_

_That made him smile despite the nervousness he swallowed back into his stomach. Not even in his wildest imagination would anyone call him Santa. Even La Flaga flashed a small smile from his place._

_A small boy, brown-eyed and messy-haired, chose that moment to appear on the doorway. Noticing a stranger's appearance in the house, he quickly hid behind La Flaga. Still, he did not stop looking at Athrun._

It's him_, Athrun said to himself. _It's him_._

_And Murrue noticed where his eyes were caught. Sighing, she raked a hand through her hair. "I couldn't make you say no, could I?"_

_Athrun smiled a little. "If Dietmar doesn't want it, you don't have to make me say no."_

_And so began his days as Dietmar Gladys' guardian._

0+0+0+0+0

A series of painful throbs on his wounded knee called him back from the land of memory. _Correction_, he noted silently, _not wounded. It's destroyed_. A dim ray of moonlight peeked from the gap between the curtain and the window. It was past midnight already, he assumed. He shifted a little to rearrange his position so that the pain would not get worse, but he found himself unable to. _Ah_.

He smiled wryly as he imagined what the press would say to find out that the one of the world's most known political representative had spent a night with today's most notorious crook.

Perhaps only Dietmar would give him a big grin with such happiness in his eyes.

He forced the stray thought to disappear, though. Not even the pain on his knee could compare to the pain of thinking about his boy. So he refocused on the sleeping Athha heir, hands curled against his right arm, almost hiding her face from anyone's view but his. In the dim light, she had never looked more like herself seven years ago, like that first time when she slept uncaringly near an enemy in an unpopulated island. How many years had he spent to imprint this image of hers in his mind, in his heart, in his soul? This profile of her high-boned cheeks, this proud bridge of her nose, this firm line of her mouth?

If he were a painter, he could make a portrait painting of hers out of memory only.

But then again, he was not sure if he knew her as well as he thought he did. What kind of painting would he make? What kind of expression would he paint for her when he himself was not sure he could understand any?

_War is always a part of politics_, she once said in private, notwithstanding her significance as Orb's leader, _but it's only soldiers who get to do the dirtiest job of it all_.

_So said a leader for whom her followers would gladly give their lives_, he countered at that time, realizing that it would draw the worst of a feeling from Cagalli. After all, he knew how she felt knowing that in her hands lie a life too many. All she had to know was that her follower did so because they wanted to. Anything else did not matter, anyway, not even what she wanted.

Then again, last night she admitted to him that she was selfish.

_If it makes me selfish, so be it. I _am_ selfish, Athrun. I really am. I want you to feel _this_, realise _this_, admit _this_, admit that I'm not the only one being like this. Even if this will suffocate you, even if this wish of mine breaks you, I still want to. I want to leave a mark on you, a mark so inerasable, unforgettable, undying. Even if it's just a scar. Even if it's just a wound. God, I want to._

It was truly overwhelming to have her letting it all out. Of all the time he had known her, this was the first time that she had cornered him this far, forcing him to see things her way. A part of him said that she did this for him, but another part of him said that she did this for her own sake so that she would not have to endure all the pain, so that he would never forget her.

And all this time, he had always asked her if they could be more than what they were today.

_Athrun the idiot_, his mind berated.

He grasped the answer for his own question too late. _We can't_, he answered for himself. _We two are too much alike_. For no matter how it hurt, it was true.

And Cagalli wondered whether she should thank him for that. _For saying the words I could never say aloud myself_, she said.

It indeed felt like a merciless jab to his stomach, one that forced him empty his bowels, food and intestines and all. And it made him angry, for fuck's sake, angry that she wanted him to hurt as much as she did, angry that she still had a tight hold over him even after all of these, angry that even after all of these, he could not stop thinking about her, measuring himself by her needs, wondering about his past and future by her presence, filling his head and mind and everything with Cagalli, Cagalli, Cagalli, Cagalli, Cagalli, .

Then she stopped his irate tirade even before it even had the chance to start by placing her hands on his cheeks, effectively making him look at her. _Look, you fool_, she whispered, _my thanks doesn't have anything to do with the pathetic little game that you accused me of doing, no, or with The Talk—and I have to admit I admire you to still remember to use it as a sorry excuse of yours. See, it's because I'm still the naïve little girl of seven years ago who still believes—realizes that she's in love with someone she shouldn't be._ The light in her eyes were strange, and he could not make himself believe that this was really Cagalli. _So look at us, look at what we could and couldn't become. We're running in a circle, but that's how it should be, because only in a circle we could still be with each other, because this way we have no beginning and no end._ Another pause, this time to sweep her thumbs across his cheekbones. _And that's how much I want to be selfish of you._

At that time, something with otherworld power choked him, leaving him bereft with no single word to be realized. It was strange, he thought. With their own darkness and fears exposed, ready to be faced and settled, they had never looked so much alike.

_So look at me. You don't have to accept the me I've become, but look at me. I'm not a shadow of your past; neither I'm your future. I'm just—this circle of ours—it's just—it's _ours_. We just have to accept it._

He did not know why she would always be the one to voice his mind, using the same words that he wanted to say. He just knew that she did.

With that, gone was his much treasured Rapunzel from her unreachable tower—that he understood.

Now, with or without the understanding, he wondered why he was not surprised as her eyes opened fully, staring back at him. He watched as a corner of her mouth rose in a tiny, rather sleepy smile.

"Done with your staring?"

"Did I wake you up?"

"Even asleep I could feel the prickles of your staring at me so devotedly."

"Admiring you is a work that could never be done, Cagalli." Even with the very minimum light in the room, the flush on her cheeks was still palpable to his eyes. He winced a little when she slapped him on the arm.

"So said one of Earth's most wanted bachelors," she countered smartly, "who happens to be quite a Casanova."

"Ex-Casanova," he corrected. "A convict now, remember?" Just like that, and the easy mood turned sour again. To watch her face fall did not bring Athrun any satisfaction, so he turned to look at the white ceiling, now dark though. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. "I'm sorry."

She shifted a little, now pillowing her head with an arm. It would take a big risk to move too much and unnecessarily jostle his wound. She was waiting, he knew.

"It seems I just can't stop being a fucked-up-in-the-head."

"You?"

Her tone, despite the weigh in the lone word and her hand on his cheek, was comfortingly light. He wondered why he had never had the guts to admit it before, admit that wherever they would go, they would never get to the end of the line. Because, after all, it was a circle, right?

"We can't stop," he corrected, though rather uneasy, but it was only a beginning. He could learn.

She gave a weak laugh, short in the wake of her acceptance. "Yeah. We can't."

"Cagalli." His hand rose to cup hers on his cheek, bringing her palm to his chapped lips, kissing it, worshipping it, knowing that it was finally the time for acceptance. "Cagalli." He closed his eyes, basking himself in the spread wing of _their_ acceptance, inhaling and filling his lungs, his inside, his everything with this closeness, this familiar presence. "Cagalli."

_It's us_.

0+0+0+0+0

Dmitrij Feyedorov once told him that the colour black was intimidating and frightening (1) like the colour of a wizard's robe that tainted belladonna fruits with poison. Therefore, it made Athrun thought of the man's previous words when said man stopped for a covert visit in a pullover and tweedy jacket. A change of season, his guest reasoned in his usual affable manner. Athrun just did not understand the man. He did not even know how Feyedorov could be here, giving his own situation and the man's significant fame.

_This is the man responsible for everything_, his mind reminded him. It was true, but even he himself was not sure whether he hated Feyedorov for that.

"Actually," Feyedorov eyed Athrun's bandaged knee, "I come to say goodbye."

"And to put a closure to your revenge?"

"Why the sarcasm, Athrun? I told you it's not revenge." The prime minister gave him a smile, but now it looked alarmingly like a predator's smile. "I came to find my answer, yet you gave me another question." Again, his eyes shot to Athrun's knee. "Why?" With his hunched shoulders and the mix of curiosity, fury and long-due anguish on his face, Feyedorov looked more like Heimlich Westenfluss the man rather than the prince charming he masked his true self as. And said man asked, _Why did you do that, why did a lost man like you survive and a resolute Heine die, why are you still here?_

"So that I will not run away." Athrun himself was surprised that the answer came out effortlessly—though not without long-suffering resolution. "Because I don't want to anymore."

When Feyedorov barked out a short laugh, it was a broken mixture of cruel satisfaction, pity and resentment. "Very literal, aren't you?" he said in between. Then he quickly grew silent. "Have you found your answer, Athrun?"

"It will take me lifetimes to get there," he replied. "And much slower now given my state of being."

A sinister sneer appeared on the thin line of Feyedorov's mouth. "There is difference between not wanting to run away and not able to run away."

"As it is with the saying of Rome and roads."

Feyedorov was quiet for a while before he reached into his jacket and took out a black flash disk. "My farewell gift, then." He tidied his jacket. "Perhaps then you could merrily celebrate our parting with some friends from Neo Equator, some of Walter's friends and also some friends from the media—including that pretty photographer friend of yours (2)." Feyedorov made a move to stand.

Athrun looked at the flash disk beside his leg and at Feyedorov again.

Feyedorov's lips supported a thin smile. "You don't tell a fisherman how to fish."

The man then made a leave, but he was stopped in the middle of his task as Athrun said, "Where are you going from here?"

Feyedorov did not bother to turn and look at him, giving Athrun a view of his broad, lonely back. "If only my heart is not as black as it is today, I'll be glad to have tea with you again." He chuckled a little, laughing perhaps at nothing in particular. "You will not see me again, Athrun. That I assure you."

The next day, Athrun followed the news broadcasted by every TV station, saying that the official helicopter that carried Neo Eurasia Prime Minister Dmitrij Feyedorov and his two adjutants crashed onto an uninhabited island during their flight to Indonesia from Orb. The Neo Eurasian contingent had returned to Orb immediately, and then began the rescue team work. The incident, as well as its causes, was still under investigation until now.

The only thing that gave Athrun guarantee that he had really talked to the fallen prime minister within the last 24 hours of said man's life was the black flash disk and its data inside.

0+0+0+0+0

Kira was breathless in front of his multipurpose notebook. Stunned would be an apt word for his best friend, Athrun thought.

"This—" Kira began, half choked. "Where did you get this from?"

He shrugged. "A wizard, a fisherman, who knows. Who cares about from who I got that?"

"Athrun." There was a mild warning in Kira's voice. "You can't just show me the whole data of this—this enormous conspiracy and say it comes from a wizard."

"So you said," he acknowledged.

His best friend grunted under his breath. "If you don't want to tell me, fine then." He looked at his notebook screen again. "But this is beyond serious. You have the hands and how they did it, complete with the details. And look at the names. Military seniors, politicians, public figures..." Kira trailed off. "And the coverage—I don't even know where to start—almost all countries in the world are in this."

Athrun nodded quietly.

"What will you do with this?"

"Hunt them, get them and make them pay?"

"Athrun, please. You know I'm here as an agent from the Office."

"And I'm an avenger."

Kira put his notebook a little aside. "Don't."

"This data is just a start, Mark. It's a bait; nothing more." He clasped his hands. "It leaves me with how to drag them out."

"But to think that Coordinator-haters and ZAFT deserter-hunters are actually plotted in this..." Kira shook his head. "Whoever did this must have taken you seriously." He took a glance at Athrun's knee but said nothing.

_He did_, Athrun thought. Only Feyedorov himself knew what he himself was really capable of, and any possible explanation was lost with said man's disappearance. If Kira knew or suspected something, he did not say, and Athrun was glad that Kira did not.

"I didn't know that there are people who hate you for deserting for good," Kira said solemnly.

"We'd taken an oath of fidelity to our motherland, and we broke it. It's that simple." He looked at the ceiling, now so white, unlike himself. "We were soldiers, and we should have realized it in the first place."

"It doesn't mean you have to follow orders out of blind loyalty."

"But there are some who could change from the inside—like Yzak."

"Different courses have different turns." Silence, then, "Why are you showing me this?"

Disbelievingly, he looked at his best friend again. "I don't think it'll take an Ultimate Coordinator's brain to answer that."

"I mean," Kira hesitated, "you know I couldn't bear to pull the trigger once again."

"And that's why!" His voice rose with the impatient annoyance inside ready to explode. "If it were me or Shinn, without doubt we will only resort back to what you hate. But you—you're different. You see what I can't, and that's the determination I don't have."

Across the room, Kira looked strangely stricken with guilt. Athrun wondered if he had said something that rubbed the wrong way.

"Determination, eh?" Kira's lips twisted into a humourless smile. "You put yourself at the very front in this and you said I have determination that you don't? I hope you don't forget who's still in hiding right now."

If only they were in their child selves years ago, he would have already bopped Kira on the head, but no. Things changed, and things were different now. He should have known that and that his no longer hiding behind a fake persona might mean some kind of a slap to the face for Kira.

"You hide because you must," he said finally. There would only be more problems should Kira decide to leave the Mark Siegfried mask, and he mortally shuddered to think of what would happen to Lacus, Elaine, Cagalli and more and more people who were in acquaintance with Kira.

"And you don't?"

"And I wouldn't want to see you hold a weapon ever again," he added in glum codicil.

Kira avoided his eyes, staring outside the window instead. "Will you forgive me, then?" Not only guilt was present on Kira's expression, but also there were shame and regret.

That alerted him. Somehow, he now could sense when things were going to go worse. "Mark?"

"Remember our first all-out fight? The one after you killed Tol—my friend," Kira said in very small voice, "and after I killed your teammate."

It was something he was desperate to forget but could not. "We have moved on from that day." Right now, he did not really want to talk about it.

"Actually," Kira's voice was now more akin to a whisper, "I was glad it's you that I killed."

He waited, chest tightening and eyes starting to burn. He remembered the day when Cagalli held him down roughly to the cot, tearfully demanding his explanation what a life meant to him, what madness made him kill his own best friend, why he did so, why he simply _killed_. Even today the memory of his fight with Kira was still powerful enough to leave him staggering with guilt and shame.

"It—your getting killed by me, I mean—was such a hard blow, but it made me make up my mind and promise to myself I wouldn't kill anymore." Kira's hair fell and shadowed his face from Athrun's view. "If it weren't you, I would still be a weapon of war." A strangled sob. "I'm so ashamed."

"Mark."

"So, so ashamed to remember that I swung the beam sabre thinking that you're going to be my last kill, that it's you—my _best friend_—who would be the last on my dead count. There's nothing I feel so guilty more than that, and I do think I really deserved the post-fight nightmares. Every flash of beam sabre, every angry shout, every clash of metal that rang in my ears—they're mine to bear, and I never tell you this because I don't even have the smallest bit of your courage."

"Mark Siegfried," he called again, louder.

His best friend raised his face slowly.

"I've done my crying for that. It's no longer your burden more than mine."

It was Kira, after all, the one brother that the Mighty Creator forgot to bless him with. Even in a burst of anger or when shadowed by guilt, he could never hate Kira. And he knew that Kira could not, too. Being forgiven was one state of Freedom, truthfully, and there was no better way to Freedom than to give Justice through forgiveness.

It was his best friend, after all.

There was a beginning of a wistful smile on Kira's lips, slowly brightening his face like the sun after a dark night. "Some say the more, the merrier," he said. "If you don't mind, of course."

He could not help smiling back. "And you said you envy my front-liner guts."

"Still not as courageous as you, though. I'm merely joining you there, partner."

0+0+0+0+0

Two days afterward, he had other visitors.

"—geez, if only you leave that babes as they tell you, we'll get this done much sooner, brat. He's only a man with a hole on his leg, you know."

"With all respect, Major, this man with a hole on his leg bested me once out of anger when he was _dying_, so I have to kindly decline your advice." (3)

"Gentlemen, please. We've had enough with procedures, haven't we?"

Athrun counted the steps until they stopped in front of the door to his isolated room. One knock and Young's honey-brown head popped inside.

"Good morning," his defender greeted. "How are we doing?"

"We feel irritated because of these two unsought guests," he said dryly.

Dearka snickered smugly, while Shinn gave him a nasty look. Sighing, Athrun straightened his posture to a sitting position. Adding Young's presence to the fact, he knew that the two ZAFT members had to be here for a reason. If it were a good reason, good for him, then. It if were bad, well, he could not say he had had the worse, could he?

"Spill it out."

Dearka snickered again. "For a man who's been shot twice in less than three months, you sure look feisty."

Beside Dearka, Shinn looked very uncomfortable. "Major," he tipped Dearka off. "I think it's best to just go straight to the point."

"Oh, shuddup, brat. If it's not because of you, we'd have been here faster."

"They have to go to the ransacking twice because First Lieutenant Shinn Asuka refused to leave his minigun with the guards downstairs," Young kindly informed him as his defender pulled a chair to sit next to his bed.

"So?" he asked his two former teammates to just cut it. "Any bad news for me? Or worse news?"

Shinn gave a cough once. "ZAFT has issued its stance in the Tribunal."

"And that is...?"

"ZAFT declines all call for a military court for any of its former members except that they turned against ZAFT after their defections. All further decision is now solely trusted to the International War Tribunal."

Somehow it was funny to witness Shinn's being very formal like that, but Athrun could not bring himself to laugh. There was still more for him to know—that was the reason why two prominent ZAFT members were here themselves.

"Concerning your service in ZAFT," Shinn paused, now looking more and more uncomfortable, "ZAFT has come to two conclusions. One, that Athrun Zala decided on his own to leave ZAFT in the First War, accepted an exile as decided by former Chairwoman of the Supreme Council of PLANT Eileen Carnaba and was pardoned by former Chairman of the Supreme Council of PLANT Gilbert Dulindal. Two, that in his capacity as a member of FAITH, Athrun Zala has been stated one-sidedly as a defector by Chairman Dulindal and has acted on his own to overthrow him," here Shinn took a relatively long breath, "as a deserter."

Even Young, who was not a military member, knew what it meant.

"ZAFT cannot annul any of its past decisions," Dearka said, "and more, you're an Orb civilian who serves Orb military. It's a one-way ticket, you know."

He closed his eyes. _Yes, I know this will come_, he said to himself. ZAFT would not set a trial for him because ZAFT saw he was labelled a traitor first then _later_ deserted and not the other way around, yet ZAFT would not interfere with the Tribunal either. Furthermore, because he had served in Orb military as an _active_ member, it would be forbidden for him to reenlist ever again in ZAFT.

"As for PLANT," Shin continued, right now he looked like he did not know how to deal with concern and pity altogether, "the Supreme Council has decided that Athrun Zala is not to be present in PLANT and its sovereign territories until the Tribunal finishes its whole course of action."

No one said anything, no one—until the subject of the affair himself broke the silence, that was.

"What about Dietmar?"

Shinn decided that time to hit the roof, however. "Think about yourself for once, will you? It's your life we're talking about!"

"Shinn—" Dearka tried to interrupt.

"This—this bastard!" Shinn spat. "Is it okay for you to wear the Judas badge? To the point that you'll probably never see your homeland again?"

"I will never be okay with that," he said, looking down at his lap just to find that his hands were shaking. "But it's my problem to deal with. Not Dietmar's or anyone else's."

Shinn kicked the floor childishly in his frustration. Athrun could not help being a little amused. Yes, that was the Shinn Asuka he was familiar with, the one who thought with his heart and was so honest in expressing what he felt.

"According to the Tribunal's _temporary_ assessment," Dearka intentionally put a very visible stress, Athrun knew, "Dietmar Gladys is to stay under neutral, standard care. I believe by that they meant his biological family or blood relatives."

"He doesn't have any."

"I know," Dearka raised a hand before he got cut further. "Well, where was I? Oh, right. Taking into consideration his late parents' aptitudes in society—mind you, even Leopold Gladys himself was a renowned scientist, the Tribunal has decided to return him to PLANT."

If the fact that he became an exile once again had not made his heart drop to his toes, this one did.

There were more on-goings that Dearka updated him with, but he could not care more. Everything just felt too wrong, he too drained. Every time he tried to pay attention to what Dearka was saying, his thought always returned to Dietmar in full blast.

"So that's all," Dearka finished. "I think it's time for us to leave, no, Shinn?" he eyed his younger teammate. "And you'll be eager to propose one or two new ideas for your defendant, right, Young?"

"No ideas for now, but of course I will," Young replied. "Thank you."

He still could not retune with his surrounding even when Young spoke himself.

"Will," he paused, then continuing hopefully, "if you... happen to see Dietmar, please tell him I'm sorry for everything," another pause to swallow the bitterness, "will you?"

Pausing on the doorway, his defender looked over his shoulder. "No, you're not," Young said softly. "If you are, you'll only make the little guy sad, boss."

The door closed, and Athrun was left with the thought that he did not want to be—was not sorry for every single time that he spent with Dietmar.

0+0+0+0+0

During the break in his scheduled hearing session, he had another visit from the Neftali Basoalto, the prosecutor he had almost violated in his previous session. Said man had nerves from steel, Athrun thought. Basoalto was not even flinching when he sat very close to him.

"I think it's best to be straightforward." Even his voice was firm.

"Yes."

"Mr. Zala—"

"Athrun."

"Mr. Athrun Zala," Basoalto corrected gently, "the Tribunal has set time for you to see Dietmar Gladys before he leaves for PLANT."

It was like a lotus bloom in the middle of a muddy pond. "I... could?"

Basoalto nodded. "Personally, I would be very glad to grant you this one small privilege." His smile turned a little pensive. "What the Tribunal did—ah—we didn't think it would cost you this much."

He did not want this pity. "Surely it's not the first thing in your concern, is it?"

"We—I'm not in the place to comment on that. Nor will I ever be. To be honest, I only want for the world to face the past and move on. What will it make for a man, a nation, a world who's afraid to know himself?" Basoalto said. "And to do such, it takes more than just being oneself."

_It doesn't mean anything_, he said to himself. _Gaining respect from them won't bring Dietmar back_.

"You're too honest of a man, too noble to hide and leave the burden to others." Basoalto made a move to stand. "The Tribunal is very honoured to have you in our court." A small bow, a gratifying smile, and the prosecutor left him just like that. He did not even give Athrun the chance to bask in the simple respect that Athrun would find in his expression.

He kept repeating in his head that it did not mean anything.

Or perhaps it did, though a little, because after the hearing session, he had his moment. Dietmar appeared from behind the door, looking so small and lost.

And behind Dietmar, there was his silver-haired former teammate.

"Fancy meeting you, Zala," said friend said in his usual haughty tone.

_What did Yzak Jule have to do with this?_ he almost asked aloud, but the thought was cut off as Dietmar threw himself to hug him.

"I—" For a while, he could not find his voice, and so could not Dietmar.

He tried his best to hug back without upsetting his knee. His wheelchair was definitely not the most comfortable place to sit on and do so. "...You're taller," he said against Dietmar's hair. He did want to say that everything was going to be alright; it was not within his power, after all.

"Yzak-san's friends play basketball with me." Dietmar's answer was muffled by the fabric of Athrun's sleeve.

His eyes felt hot. _Has my father ever felt like this? Felt this pride to know that his son has grown? _Across the room, his eyes found Yzak and Young, waiting for him. He knew that his time was limited; it was grave, but he knew.

"Here." Dietmar took something from the pocket of his jeans and shoved it to his chest. It was the small, yellow duck figurine from his car. He had sold his cars and house; Dietmar must have known it. "Will says you don't have the car anymore, so I want you to keep this for me." He wiped his tears with the back of his hand. "Promise? I'll take it back someday."

His tear duct chose the moment to brim his eyes with tears.

"I promise I will be good so you don't have to be worried," Dietmar says, obviously trying not to cry any harder. Athrun's heart immediately went to _his_ brave, brave boy.

"I promise." Torn between the want to weep or crumble, he could only tighten his hold on Dietmar. Distantly he could hear what had passed unvoiced between them: _I don't want to leave. I want to stay here_. A stark realization spelled that perhaps it would be years before they could see each other again. Perhaps they could not anymore. It was frightening as it was heartbreaking. "It's a promise between two men."

Minutes ticked, and he let go with heavy will and heavier heart. He did not know whether to be disappointed or proud when Dietmar moved to stand near Yzak. His former teammate gave him a faint, knowing nod.

"Can I burden you with one more thing?" he asked. "There's a photograph in my old room in ZAFT Headquarter—my mother and me. I don't think the Tribunal took it as evidence."

"I will see what I can do," Yzak replied. "After all, there's no use in keeping _your_ belongings there."

Despite the sarcasm, he was glad for this friend, the friend who once gave him a brilliant assist in a football match years ago. (4)

And Yzak had to add, "No need to thank me, though, Zala."

That gained him a small yet grateful smile from Athrun. "Of course."

A guard entered the room to get him back to the hospital. Yzak and Dietmar moved aside to give him a way. Outside the rooms, quite numbers of guard stood in rows, each on his left and right side. He looked at Young, asking, but his defender shrugged. Their commander, the man who helped him after the incident with Basoalto earlier, gave him a military salute.

And his men followed him.

It was a small group of guards, but they were still part of the military. So why—

"Farewell, First Lieutenant Athrun Zala," a firm voice said from behind.

When he turned to see, Yzak was in formal salute posture. Next to him, Dietmar was crying.

"Look ahead, boy," Yzak said to Dietmar, giving a gentle pat on Dietmar's shoulder. "A real man deserves your head up. Be proud of him." And Dietmar held his head up, his proud posture only betrayed by the tracks of tears on his face.

Athrun did not look back again, but the duck in his hand felt much heavier than before.

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From the window of his hospital room, he could see a white trail of smoke in the sky, left behind by a swishing space shuttle above. It was heading for PLANT, he knew, and it marked the closure of his separation with Dietmar. Sighing, he closed the curtain. He only hoped that Dietmar would not keep insisting to take his name—Yzak would make sure of that, thankfully.

Young had left earlier. Athrun had given him his bank account with the total amount of his house and cars altogether. Young had refused vehemently, saying that he did not do all of this for money, but it was the least Athrun could do for him. _It's not a payback, Will_, he had said. _I trust you; I know this would make more benefits in your hand than in mine._

Then... numbness.

To count what he had lost hurt, but he did not know where to start to count what he still had. The wounds would fester, would still be there. It would be a reminder, and it would serve its purpose as long as he remembered. He just wondered how long he could endure before his self collapsed with the wounds eating him bit by bit.

Then the bed dipped.

He sighed. "Shall I ask you how you could always find your way to me?" He was quarantined, his room isolated, and she was the Head Representative. Even more, it was like the Pope visiting Stalin himself.

"Let's just say I have my way."

Blearily, he opened his eyes—which he did not remember of ever closing. Cagalli sat on the bed, not looking at him, feet dangling off the floor. Clad in her white uniform and basked in the dusk sunlight, she looked an illustration of innocence and patience.

"Lacus called me," she said. "She told me about Dietmar. He's in a good hand, I think. After all, he's with PLANT's future Minister of Defence, no?"

However, he could not find a tad of strength to smile at that.

She swung her feet to and fro. "Orb's going to run the trial for Nkono and his compatriots. We're not going to lose in this. We can't. Also, we'll deal with the Tribunal fairly. We're not—let me quote some media—'an asylum country for warmongers and scoundrels.' Can you imagine that?" There was a tint of distant sadness in her voice now. "I bet Father's never imagined Orb will take a stance like this." Then she turned to look at him in the eyes, for the first time that evening. "...I'm scared."

He knew how much it took her to admit it aloud. Had he all this time overestimated her by thinking that she was stronger than him, much stronger that she could support the both of them on her own? Or had he underestimated her by belittling her strength to admit her darkness and fears, thinking that she would always be too wrapped-up in self-righteousness to admit them herself?

"I'm scared, too," he said. "But can a blind man help another blind man?"

"You're right." She tilted her head a bit. "But I'm no man."

"Cagalli," he began shakily, too broken to remain unshaken. "I..." he swallowed, voice so desperately close to breaking, "I have nothing left."

She curled beside him, laying her head next to his on the same pillow. Tensing up, he stilled. Her breath fell between his collarbones. His arm trembled when she reached to grasp his hand.

"Just for now, Athrun," she whispered. "Just for now."

And somehow he heard it. _It's alright._ There was something in her that Athrun was desperately holding on to. _It's alright. I've got you. It's alright._

So he held her close, fiercely, selfishly, and she held him in return just as fiercely, just as selfishly. And just like that he sagged against her, face buried on the joint between her shoulder and neck, and he cried. Maybe later he would prepare something for the ongoing trial. Maybe later he would ask Cagalli and Kira to tea or thank his friends in PLANT. Maybe later he could say that he was fed up with alright and fine, that he only wanted his dreams to be dreams and not nightmare anymore. Maybe later he would think of what he would do with no house to stay in or belongings to use, no motherland to return to, no Dietmar to wake him up in the morning like always and to drive to school, nothing. Maybe later he could do something—_anything_—right.

Right now, in those arms, he just wanted to stop dying.

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_The Emirate of Orb_

_CE 85_

It was not the first time.

Athrun Zala could only sigh when he found that half of his garden destroyed beyond salvation. The rose bush was pulled off, its remains now scattered along with tulips, gerberas and bits. The lone, waist-tall lemon tree on the corner of his garden also was not spared from the vandalism, its still green fruits lay trodden on the dirt. Here and there the green grass that carpeted his garden was stomped and pulled.

It was not the first time, and he knew that it would not be the last either.

He rolled the sleeves of his shirt and crouched near the watermelon plant next to the lemon tree. A day more and the watermelons would have been served as a desert in his lunch or dinner. _My poor watermelons_, he thought. _People really need to think more than twice before they run off destroying something_.

"Good morning, Athrun-san!"

He raised his head to find a girl wave at him from behind his low wooden gate, standing on her toes to get a look over the gate. "Good morning, Sophie." He smiled at the seven-year old girl, his neighbour by two houses. "On your way to school?"

"Un!" The girl nodded enthusiastically, her ponytail going up and down with the move. "Mama is still looking for her shoes, so I think I will say good morning to you while waiting for her."

"So kind of you, Sophie." He looked around to find a flower to give her. "Here's for you," he said, handing her a fresh red gerbera, one spared from the wreckage. It was not in full bloom yet, but it would do. He laughed a little as Sophie squealed happily, thanking him.

Sophie's mother chose that time to get her daughter. "Ah, g-good morning, Mr. Zala."

Ignoring the protest from his left knee, he straightened and stood properly to greet his neighbour. "Good morning, Mrs. Groenmeyer."

"Look, Mama. Athrun-san gives me this flower! It's pretty, right?"

"Aah—y-yes, dear. Of course it is." She looked nervously at her daughter and at Athrun and back at her daughter again. "We have to go now. Thank you for the flower, Mr. Zala. Now, Sophie. Come on. Hurry. You're going to be late." She walked away very fast for a plump woman in her forties, even half-dragging her daughter behind him.

"See you, Athrun-san!" Sophie waved again at him before she and her mother disappeared at the end of the street.

"Enjoy your day, Sophie!" he called back, deliberately ignorant of Mrs. Groenmeyer's disapproving look. He was used to that, really. _And to this_, he thought as he paid attention once more to what was once his beautiful garden. Last night he was spending his time in his bunker, updating his data with new information sent from all across the globe and PLANT; it was no wonder he did not hear anything happened above. Now he felt a bit regretful for not finishing his work earlier. "Now what should I do with you, huh?"

Six years down the road, he had grown to this kind of situation, really. His garden aside, he would not be surprised to find people like Mrs. Groenmeyer giving him the curious and then spiteful eye when he was doing his groceries or even sitting in his terrace for an evening reading. There were books written about him, too, and strangely he found that Lacus would always give the saddest and Young the angriest response.

_Well, they can kiss your ass for all you care, man_, Dearka commented. And his blonde former teammate, even with his brutal honesty, was not the only one who understood his sentiments, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in his pursuit of truth. Shinn and Lunamaria changed their unit to intelligence; consequently, he got a coded message from a world's end every now and then. He himself sometimes would relay the information to Hathaway and leave the rest to the authority. Yzak and his growing number of loyalists kept a sharp eye for any movement within ZAFT, and Athrun really could not ask for more than that—his rival would surely be the first to do the pre-emptive act should ZAFT showed any sign to take a wrong turn again. Young's working with a non-governmental organization also helped him to get the first notice when there was a rising number of grass-root conflict in a region.

Ah yes, speaking about Young, his former defender had joined a non-governmental organization not too long after his trial ended. Specializing in dealing with asylum seekers, ex-soldier survivors and refugees, the organization had since become one of the leading parties to promote better treatment for its main concern. Young himself was now well known as a vocal advocate of reformation in asylum-granting procedures. _Our case lies in a good hand of a good man_, Hathaway had once said.

One of the cases was his.

Once, his house—if he could call a cabin with one bedroom, a kitchen and a spare room that—had suffered the same, if not worse, vandalism that his garden got. By the time he got home—not that he could wander around the town freely, almost all windows were broken, his wall dirtied by obscene graffiti and his water tank pierced with numerous staplers. _Well, at least they didn't burn my house_, he commented as Kira worried and worried more about his safety.

He wondered if people were upset because he dragged Orb in this or because Orb's beloved living icon stood with him in this.

But, oh God, his heart always swelled every time he thought about her.

A year ago, Cagalli gave a speech regarding the result of the International War Tribunal. Accompanied by several executives from the Tribunal and leaders from countries around the world, she thanked the Tribunal for its work and also the people with no exception, Coordinators and Naturals, civilians and military members, for their acceptance and understanding. There was no large-scale conflict during the six years of the trial, but there were small riot between groups and factions everywhere. _It's only humane for us to feel a different range of emotions about what our past has brought_, she said. _Yet a house divided is not a real house, and that's why only we could build our house together_.

Later, she gave another speech to underline her stance regarding her stead as the Head Representative of the Emirate of Orb. Not a word about Kira Yamato, a mysterious former ace mobile suit pilot, was mentioned even though people had been—and would still be—wondering about said pilot's whereabouts. _Let him disappear with the ghost of our nightmare_, she said. She also said that she would step down after the building of Neo Heliopolis was completed. Not surprisingly, the most potential name to the succession belonged to retired Colonel Rene Hathaway, now fifty-four-year old, former Head of the National Domestic Security Affair Office.

However, the speech led to a public rumour and, later, suspicious accusation of her having an alleged relationship with Athrun Zala since she refused to give any comment on her constant contact with him. Her political opponents had since filed a lawsuit against her under the charge of public deceiving, thankfully to no avail. Still, it did not mean that the curiosity had been answered.

Speaking of which, in the last Orb National Day, Athrun got some kind of a gift. A TV station had asked random people about what they felt regarding Orb's current state. A university student who happened to be candidly interviewed said, _It's a pity Cagalli-sama is going to say bye to the government, but it's even greater pity that she dumps her political career to the trash just for something most people couldn't help being angry about_.

He wondered if people would never use his name directly just like it was in PLANT—where opinions about him were roughly divided into two opposing parties. In Orb, those who were most upset were so bitter about his hand in Cagalli's history that they even supported the idea to change Orb into a republic. (5) In PLANT, the only thing the residents agreed upon was that he helped to end both Wars, regardless of being a ZAFT traitor twice.

_Here in PLANT they can't forget your accomplishments in the Wars_, Yzak once said, _and they still can't forgive the humiliation you brought for them either_.

He knew that all just fine. Overthrowing officially legal leaders of a nation, no matter how flawed they were, was still a harsh blow to a nation's pride. Yet still, he longed to go home to PLANT even if it was only once before he died and be accepted in Orb for who he really was.

It was only ten minutes of crouching, but already his knee could not take it anymore. Wincing, he straightened up. Blood flowed more freely to his foot, relaxing it. Patting his knee twice, he doubted that it would recover like nothing had happened. It was his price, after all.

"Need a help with your garden?"

_That_ voice.

The one with power to make his heart swell just by thinking about was there, elbows propped up against his gate.

"Good morning, Your Excellency. To what do I owe such honour in the morning?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, a small smile on her lips. "All the things I know and all the things I don't know bring me here." With no trademark Athha black uniform and no guard tailing around, she looked like a common passer-by. What was she thinking coming incognito like this? Really, she never failed to hold his attention. "Perhaps this kind-hearted master gardener would not mind to have me for a lunch?"

"Why, this so-called master gardener is an unemployed host, Your Excellency. His status aside, he also has unhealthy obsession with coffee—no thanks to someone who makes him so, has injuries more than the numbers of his fingers, tends to keep his thoughts to himself, takes things to heart and does a lot of brooding. Perhaps Your Majesty will find it too much?"

"Well, I'm a Representative with crazy schedule, and it's been crazier since the rebuilding of Neo Heliopolis is nearing the end. Yet despite that, all I have is myself because I don't want to hog the properties belong to the Athhas. Even my mansion is halved with the orphanage that my brother runs. In two or three years, my term will end and I won't run for the office again, so I'm still not sure of how to afford my living expenses. I also have to deal with the accusation of evoking the discourse of changing Orb into a republic, a republic that doesn't have to depend on a leader-by-bloodline. In addition to that, I'll probably have to endure the rest of my term in jeers since I publicly announce I'm not an Athha by blood, keep in touch with a notorious crook and allegedly cover for a vagabond pilot." She tilted her head. "I guess that will make us a good match."

He opens the gate for her. "I believe it will—if Your Excellency finds that this humble host's cooking worthy of her presence."

The expression on her face was enough to tell him the answer. "It's a deal, then."

A soft smile lit his face, outdoing his weariness, as he reached out a hand to her. That was all he could offer her after all—himself. "If you will have me?"

She took his hand gently in hers, thumb rubbing against the marred skin on the back of his hand, undeniable proofs of the years of his still progressing struggles to make peace with himself. She knew, understood and accepted all of him that was hers to have.

He still could not see the end of his road, but he would. Definitely.

"Always."

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**Epilogue**

_Junius 3, PLANT_

_CE 87_

'_Different reactions occurred following the launching of William Herbert Young's debut novel, _The Martyr_, _AP_ reported Sunday (19/4)._

'_Young, former defender of Athrun Zala, probably world's most infamous deserter, said that his novel was not a political novel. "Ever since the trial for Athrun Zala, we have a lot of heated discussions as well as learned debates about it. Also, many deserters and former military officers with MIA status from both ZAFT and the previous Earth Alliance have emerged to make themselves known," said Young. "Wars may have ended almost ten years ago, but it is still too early to say that everything is on the right track. With the end of the war, we're facing the post-war effects. Veterans and deserters are just a small part of the big legacy of wars that we inherit."_

'_Politics analyst Hamilton Acton said that Young's novel might become the second _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. "It's Mr. Young's personal experiences cleverly wrapped and handed over to readers," said Acton. Literature critic Emilliana Eco also said that the novel "won't be recommended a Nobel, but surely will be widely influential." Said Eco, "_The Martyr_ will be noted for the controversial issues it brings up."_

'_On the other hand, _The Martyr_ was also alerting. "For example, following the unexpected loss of political giant Dmitrij Feyedorov, Neo Eurasia is still on edge even until today. Being the biggest shelter country for Coordinators on Earth, a small clash will probably trigger a big conflict in the region," said sociologist Angela Mead. "Young's novel should be handled carefully, or else it will be that trigger." Mead also hoped that the bringing up of Athrun Zala's trial would not split the world into bipolar once again._

'_Despite the poles-apart reactions, _The Martyr_ had gained a big number of readers. There was a long queuing line in front of the bookstore where Young held his launching. Online bookstores such as The Papyrus and Amazon Book reported that they had had the novel ordered since a month ago._

'_The novel itself follows the life of its protagonist, Arlutha Naz, a Coordinator deserter-by-will who is struggling to find his place in a changing world. "We tend to forget people like Arlutha Naz, and _The Martyr_ is supposed to remind us of it all. My novel is simply a story about people who lost—who were forced to lose," said Young, a law practitioner-turn-to-human rights activist.'_

Sighing, Meyrin put the morning newspaper on the coffee table. _All's well with the world, I guess_, she thought. A second ring from her front door prevented her from thinking further about the article she had just read. Realizing who her guest would be, she got up to open her door.

Dietmar grinned at her the moment she saw his face. "Ready, Meyrin-san?"

She smiled. "Shouldn't you say 'good morning' first?"

He bent to land a soft kiss on her cheek. "Good morning," he said as he straightened. "Where are your suitcases? I'll put them in the car."

She raised her eyebrows. "Where's your driver?"

Dietmar had suddenly just found the time to look sheepish. "I haven't forgotten to tell you, have I? I've got my driving license last month. Yzak-san isn't too pleased to let me drive on my own, saying there are a lot of chauffeurs in the Jule Household ready to drive me anywhere. But," he grinned wider, "where's the fun in letting a chauffeur drive your one hell of a car?"

"Good for Yzak-san, then." She patted him on the back. "You really need to spoil him more. After all, the oh-so mighty Major General does need to have some fun."

He entered the house and disappeared into the guest room. He appeared again with two large suitcases in both hands. Half complaining of what Meyrin could have packed into the suitcases, he brought and put them in the baggage of his car, a luxurious, cool car just like Dietmar always dreamed his first car to be. _Oh the joy of hedonistic life_, Shinn once commented, sarcastic as he always was, about Dietmar's taste in vehicle.

Dietmar sat on the driver seat and fastened his seatbelt. He scowled a little as his forehead struck the roof of the car. Standing tall at 5.83ft had its disadvantage sometimes, he grunted, annoyed. But it was not enough to erase the brightness in Dietmar's eyes, the joyful light of being someone who was finally able to return to a place that had always been home to him. She understood, and she knew that Dietmar, too, had grown to understand it himself.

"And now off we go, Meyrin-san," Dietmar said softly. "We're going home."

FIN

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Notes:

(1) See Chapter 7.

(2) See Chapter 6, where Athrun came across Miriallia.

(3) Infinite Justice vs. Destiny, remember? The one with Athrun still all bandaged that he loses consciousness and reopens his wounds right afterward.

(4) See Chapter 9, where Athrun and Dearka got a detention.

(5) See Chapter 5, where Athrun first began to think that Feyedorov nosed around too much in Orb's domestic business

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**Afterword: On a Fic Titled **_**Being Athrun Zala**_

I want to say I'm so thankful to be able to hold on this far. Uh~ alright. Pardon the inappropriate opening.

First of all, a huge THANK YOU to beloved **Fledgling**, the ever supportive, benevolent beta and critic. Straightforwardly, there's no _BAZ_ without her. We've even once got trapped in an argument regarding the scene where Athrun and Cagalli mentions the Pandora Jar (I used the term 'jar' because it is what is drawn in classic Greek illustrations). Another time we're arguing over why Lacus is allowed to be a member of PLANT Supreme Council. (Borrowing Fledgling's words, it's because she's pink. And can sing. So yeah. XD) Then about Athrun's un-Athrun-ness concerning Dietmar. Then about the rate of Athrun's violence towards his closest people. Oh well. All in all, just accept it, Fled-love: you're simply the bestest. Would you like me to bear your children? :)

Please pardon our expression of domestic love. :3

Another gigantic THANK YOU also to **allreaders**, who have walked the line with me and supported _BAZ_. I kept your reviews and reread them when I didn't feel like writing or simply was too lazy to even move a finger. And I'm very moved by what you've written, oh I really am. Some are very detailed; some are short but equally supportive. All of them are wonderful, so THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!

And a special bear hug as I promised for **mehj**, who got my question right. Yep, darling, Neftali Basoalto is part of Pablo Neruda's real name—Ricardo Eliecer Neftalí Reyes Basoalto. He's one of my favourite poets, and without his poem _Walking Around_ and _The Saddest Poem_, I wouldn't be able to write _BAZ_'s Athrun. Read them, will you? They're good for your health. :)

So!

The throb to write _BAZ_ emerged when I was reading one of my old fic, _Selfishness_. Some said it's too sad that the Athrun in _Selfishness_ never got a chance to tell Cagalli that he just couldn't stop. Couldn't stop wanting to better the world. Couldn't stop wanting to be freed of the burden forced onto him. Couldn't stop being bitter and justice-driven as he was. And most of all, couldn't stop wanting to be with Cagalli sans the name and the eye people gave him. (Put him in Cagalli's shoes, and you'll get a perfect disastrous leader.) Then I thought, _Hey, why don't I write a fic about that kind of Athrun?_ So I surrender to what the throb's said and voila! You got _BAZ_ served on a silver platter. And speaking of which, I tip my hat off to **ghikiJ**, who wrapped up the character that is _BAZ_'s Athrun very accurately even before this fic ends—let me quote: "...an individual atoning for his sins and past mistakes, and as someone who, after all the complexities of war, do not know where to turn and what to do ... lost and still indecisive ... in his search for justice, he lost his sense of self." Bravo!

I have to admit sometimes during writing I imagined if I were in Athrun's shoes. Personally, I think he's a right man in the wrong place and wrong time. He should have never joined up ZAFT; it's not his place. He's a romantic humanist (pardon the untimely intrusion of typical post-war Japanese humanist in anime), a lost boy and an idealist much, much more than Kira is. Over and over during _GSD_ I want to bonk him on the head and say, 'Athrun, you're not Patrick!'

Now, to the questions concerning of _BAZ_ itself...

One, I inserted a lot of factual and historical references in _BAZ_. Let's face it: politics stinks, but it'll never disappear from Earth. It means for the good of the people if put and executed correctly by non-Machiavellian _zoon politicon_. My references are mostly backdated, so I hope I didn't turn you off along the way.

The internal conflicts in PLANT/ZAFT are more or less inspired by the main report in the March 2003 edition of _Newsweek_. Somehow I end up writing a non-existent Slobodan Milosevic, a martyred Zoran Djinjic and a not-quite-there-but-indeed-haunting presence of Legija and the Legionnaire in _BAZ_. I'm not going to talk about that further, though. The rest was—well—you know what's going on there in Iraq, Afghanistan, Myanmar and other regions still plagued by conflicts and dehumanisations.

And my favourite ZAFT soldier, Yzak, plays General George Patton here in _BAZ_, hehe...

Two, on naming the original characters. Let's see... Dietmar and Elaine just popped up out of nowhere. I just like the name Dietmar. Rene Hathaway, well, if you're a classic Gundam fans, you would've known already from whom I took that name. I made up Young's name to suit his initial WHY, because until the end I never give a clear line of his reason protecting Athrun. (And it's not because Athrun is pretty :D) Next to Young's WHY, Walter's HOW explains how Operation Monitor and String Poor Athrun Zala is executed. In short, HOW is the practice department, WHY the theory department. I use them both to direct to Feyedorov a.k.a. Heimlich. If you think Heimlich's revelation is kinda abrupt, hey, I've mentioned his brother Heine since Chapter 7. Oh, and don't ask me about the Neo Equator terrorist Nkono. God knows how I could make his name up.

Say, have you noticed anything about the name of the protagonist in Young's novel, Arlutha Naz? ;3

Three, my _Seed_ materials. A friend asked me why I didn't take much account from the _Special Edition_. Well, while the _Special Edition_ gives us a lot of fan-joy, it screws my logic. I can't even understand why they put Kira in a ZAFT uniform, considering how reluctant he is to get involved in wars first and foremost. And how can the government of Orb allow a former ZAFT soldier, much less the only son of their nemesis's patriarch, to become an admiral in its military? And don't start on Lacus if you're trying to go logical. XP So yes, I only use the TV series and Kuori Chimaki's _GSD The Edge_. Why, yes, I'm always eager to repeat my proclamation of how much I love, love, love _The Edge_? :

Four, will there be a continuation? Well, _BAZ_ is one hell of a headache already, and I know when enough is enough. If there is one, it'll be on a lighter tone.

So!

We've come to the end of the rainbow. If you first read _BAZ_ wanting to get the mush or the sap, I'm sure by now you are disappointed. I'm sorry if you are, but I'm not sorry for putting _BAZ_'s end the way it is. For those who manage to read even to this uber-boring self-advertising, I hope you enjoy your reading, and you know for that reason alone I'm still writing fanfictions.

Thank you!

Until we meet again!


End file.
